Clint Eastwood - When I Sing About You, lyrics

I decided to discontinue this blog. I would have left it as it is but according to the stats by Statcounter, the few visits I have had came from clinteastwood.org forums where there seems to be the link to this blog. As I am led to believe, most of the visitors were looking for the lyrics of Clint Eastwood's song from his Honkytonk Man picture, When I Sing About You. So I reprint the original post (bar the video, not on Youtube anymore) here again, as the last post of the blog - therefore you won't have to search for them.

Indeed, I will only be pleased if you decide to look up my other writings and, please, feel free to leave any comments. If I ever run another blog maybe we'll meet there, until then - have a splendid time!

************************************************************************

Well, I realised after I saved my last post that I write excessively about the blog itself which makes it look like I've nothing to write about anyway. It ain't so far from true, as I come to think of it. At least that means improvement is possible.

Boy, I love improving!

Too bad I only like to think about it.

For the previous posts I wrote a few creative-like compositions and I made them as I went. To put it better - I made them on the write. I found a request for lyrics on YouTube on the other day, however. And I made up my mind to do some transcribing. I guess it might seem strange to pin lyrics to a blog but I think there ain't too many places in the world wide web where these particular lyrics are.

Moreover, they belong to a beautiful song. The song itself is from the film Honkytonk Man directed by and starring Clint Eastwood. And Clint Eastwood is my all time hero. So much for the reasons to write them lyrics down. (I haven't seen this movie yet, but, damn, I'm fixin to every day now!)

I tried to track down the writer and/or composer of this song, but the only information I could find was that it's performed by Clint Eastwood. It might have been written by him as well - he does write music, I believe - but I haven't found any proof of it. That reminds me, if you know any more about the song, leave a comment, please. I guess the writer of the song is listed in the ending titles of Honkytonk Man. Another reason to see it, then. I'll update when I know.

Also, the request came from a You Tube broadcaster named MgawL, so check out his channel, folks, he might have a neat little cover ready for you!

I reckon that'd be all. Oh, right - the song (huge thanks to melodyman24 for uploading it!).

When I Sing About You
------------------------------

Telephone
But I can't dial it
Hands are shaking
I'll have to follow the way
What I was wont to say

I love you
You think I could say it
Though it's true
Can't even pray it at night
Just never comes out right

But when I sing about you
Every word is at my command
My guitar comes alive in my hand
When I sing about you

When I sing about you
Every note seems to be right on key
Oh it all sounds so right to me
When I sing about you
Oh it all sounds so right to me
When I sing about you

Let's Get Enviromental

Anyone seeking to wander through their life blessed by total ignorance of the politics may found themeselves pushed into a very tight corner these days. It seems that the media all-around the world feed and breed on the details of American election campaign. Yet the worse is that it's getting so tiring with the formerly fresh and inspiring race for the most powerful political position already on the brink of turning into a rather dirty, gutter-based, amateur wrestling.

I know no one asks for my opinion, but I still feel bad about John McCain's choice of a would-be vice-president. I've nothing against McCain himself - he is probably the best option his party has had lately - it's the hockey mum that makes me worried. And it's not that I care (or know either) that much about the politics. But when I hear how eager she is to surrender what's left of the unspoilt-by-man Alaska to the oil companies, I just feel too sad... Looks like the Last Frontier will be gettind cease-and-desist letter awfully soon. I sincerely hope I am wrong about it.

I wrote a short piece about the way we treat the land we live from, the one thing in the world that deserves the best and usually gets the worst. It isn't much of a poem but I've tried to put it the way I feel about it.

Nature, All Rights Reserved
(For Mrs. Palin - but not the only one reserved for)

Nature succumbed to the pillars,
Man-built, firmly concrete -
Where reindeers would roam
Rubber soles now stampede.

Wilderness was outsourced,
Ignored her lamentations,
Sorted, labeled, loaded
And hauled to reservations.

Just like in the old days
One can hunt or seek the trail
And if you stay real quiet
You'll see how mankind failed.

For so long we build roads
And dig up the ground,
So long, until nothing
Is left to push around.

Fall, forest, fall!

Fall again. Autumn, too. Here's your poem.

Of Trees In Winter Time
(for all the horses that refused to give up)

I'm done,
Said the grand old fir,
Supreme ruler of the wood.
I'm done.
And it's for good.

Done it does think it is
But hear talk the other trees:
No kiddin', man, this is our scene,
Buzz off, evergreen!

So what?
So I got the needle leaves,
Don't drop nothing down to rot.
So what?
It's me, is it not?

Well, fir, it may as well be,
To you or any other tree.
But to a group of more than two
No such thing is ever true.

You dream to be a brother,
But other trees won't even bother.
Cause when you cross the borders set,
Disrespect is what you get.

Just stick to your own
Lest you get to be a clown
To a group that isn't yours -
Just another Fir The Horse.

The men with one face

There's been quite a humbug around Metallica lately, what with their new album coming out and all. Even YouTube's got them all over their frontpage today. I recently picked up The Metallicats again, too. Well, I said again, but in fact I never before listened to Metallica that much. There's no need (though there's certainly a lot of space) to describe how great their music is or in what way it affected me. Too many have done so before, I would only be able to repeat what has already been written. Perhaps I'll do so when I'll be short on impulses for blogging. Sorry for projecting silly plans :)

Death Magnetic, that's what they gonna call this new album, anyway. I haven't heard it yet, well, one single song. And that's way too little evidence to claim the album's good or bad or whatever. On the other hand, I've read that the band either intended or hoped (or both, maybe) it to be the same raw hell of a record as their "Black" album. It's the kind of an aim worth an acknowledgment - to re-visit your history, I mean. Yet, I think it can't be done. Or, at least, not to an ultimate measure. To me, the power of Metallica's early albums (well, early... they had already been in it for almost a decade when the Black album came out) lays in the energy of the youth; it's not the same making such a powerful statement with nearly twenty years stretched infinitely between now and then. Or, rather, if you're really sincere (and lucky!) the power stays but the statement changes. The essence of it.

Anyway, who am I to bitch about Metallica's intentions? Let the guys sort it out for themselves. I am sure interested what's it gonna be like. However, there's one shocking thing about nowadays James Hetfield that makes me really crazy. Reading an article, on Wikipedia I think it was, I saw an illustration photo of him (taken at this year's Leeds festival) and I realised how remarkably similar he is to Pete Seeger. And this mere fact gives me such positive creeps that I post this compare-us picture I made here on this blog. Well, you judge...

P.S.

Original Pete Seeger's photo comes from http://www.hrcr.org/

James Hetfield's one is from http://www.artistdirect.com/

The Man With Many Names

Well, I realised after I saved my last post that I write excessively about the blog itself which makes it look like I've nothing to write about anyway. It ain't so far from true, as I come to think of it. At least that means improvement is possible.

Boy, I love improving!

Too bad I only like to think about it.

For the previous posts I wrote a few creative-like compositions and I made them as I went. To put it better - I made them on the write. I found a request for lyrics on YouTube on the other day, however. And I made up my mind to do some transcribing. I guess it might seem strange to pin lyrics to a blog but I think there ain't too many places in the world wide web where these particular lyrics are.

Moreover, they belong to a beautiful song. The song itself is from the film Honkytonk Man directed by and starring Clint Eastwood. And Clint Eastwood is my all time hero. So much for the reasons to write them lyrics down. (I haven't seen this movie yet, but, damn, I'm fixin to every day now!)

I tried to track down the writer and/or composer of this song, but the only information I could find was that it's performed by Clint Eastwood. It might have been written by him as well - he does write music, I believe - but I haven't found any proof of it. That reminds me, if you know any more about the song, leave a comment, please. I guess the writer of the song is listed in the ending titles of Honkytonk Man. Another reason to see it, then. I'll update when I know.

Also, the request came from a You Tube broadcaster named MgawL, so check out his channel, folks, he might have a neat little cover ready for you!

I reckon that'd be all. Oh, right - the song (huge thanks to melodyman24 for uploading it!).

When I Sing About You
------------------------------

Telephone
But I can't dial it
Hands are shaking
I'll have to follow the way
What I was wont to say

I love you
You think I could say it
Though it's true
Can't even pray it at night
Just never comes out right

But when I sing about you
Every word is at my command
My guitar comes alive in my hand
When I sing about you

When I sing about you
Every note seems to be right on key
Oh it all sounds so right to me
When I sing about you
Oh it all sounds so right to me
When I sing about you

Oh, really?

I've been picking up quite a speed lately - at blogging, that is. If I manage to finish this piece in less than fifteen minutes it will make it solid-one-a-day blog. I wish I had at least that many hits, though.

Of course, the afore mentioned intensity takes its roots in the begginer's enthusiasm. I wonder when the velocity of my submissions begins to cut down. I am fairly sure it will some day.

I also looked up some poetry sites today - I thought if I submitted some number there it may eventually lead to some attention finally (though it's just been less than three days since I started the blog). Armed with Google, it took me next to no time at all. But the bunch of them websites looks like they were last updated even before the dotcom boom. Maybe I just clicked on the wrong ones, I don't know. But I didn't submit nothing nowhere. That means it made this website quite exclusive, I reckon.

It's certain at this moment I won't make it till midnight as it's a new day already. The overblogging problem seems easier to sort out now. Well, that is, unless I write another entry in 23 hours and 44 minutes. 43.

There I go, making God laugh by revealing my plans again. But then, there's not many things worth a good laugh after all. Here's today's subject to creativity anyway. 10-7.

Summer

---------

Oh, summer, so hot and windy

And me and my girlfriend Mindy

(You're right, it is a very nice name!)

We get up late

The sun will wait

dedicated to Eddy Grant

There's no coming back, is there?

You've probably read a lot of short stories. And you probably know there's even more of those you haven't. This is one of them:

(p.s. I make it up as I write, so have mercy I beg you)

To live and to leave, part one
------------------------------------

There are flats and there are apartments. There are houses and there are mansions. There are buildings and there are constructions. Solid structures. Pillars of living. Keepers of furniture. There's many of them and in one of the many lived a man not completely unknown to his neighbourghs. They said hello's and hi's when he passed them by and he replied with howyoudoin's and approving nods.
"Hello there!"
"How you doin', man?"
"All right, all right! What's going on up there in 17b, Jonathan?"
That is Jonathan's claim to a solid strucure, a pillar of living - 17B.
"Oh, not much. All as usual, don't you know."
It's just a furniture keeper after all.
"Well, keep it goin' anyway, buddy!"
"I'm trying, I tell you that!"
Hellothere laughs.
"I see, I see."
"I'll be off then, see you later!"
"See you, see you."
Jonathan nods and leaves. Act finished. Exit habitat - exit habits.


Obviously, some short stories are too long.

And so it begins...

Now, this here blog ain't got no concrete ambition. That is, all of you who are actually reading these lines are quite welcome to forget them. Let them slip your minds, let them crumble under the information pressure - this here blog has no particular intention to linger.

Now, there's an honest approach... some would say. Not that this here blog cares too much about any of them opinions. It does not. I do. But I quite ain't this here blog.

Now, you might have observed observed a tendency of this here blog to grow sillier with every line. And as you might have already guessed as well, it strangely tends to begin every paragraph with the word "now". Having considered these findings, it is up to you, dear reader, to decide whether to go on or get off. Improvement may be promised, yet hardly guaranteed.

Now... (sorry)

What I am trying to say (well, write) is that by lowering your expectation now you may happen to be pleasantly surprised later. That's my final advice. At least final in this paragraph. That's a promise, not a guarantee, though.

I wrote at the beginning of this post that there's no definite aim to this blog. Well, maybe I'll think of one in due time but for now the premise of this piece of binary land remains simple all right - to exist. It is so painfully easy to express one's self these days that it has become increasingly tough not to get lost among all those expressed selves and remaining silent and detached often gives you larger deal of attention than any action taken.

Why adding another personal expression into the pot, then? Well, that is a question I am not able to answer yet. When a blog attracts attention, mere audience is a reason for continuity. When it fails to do so, it is up to the blogger to decide. I'll try to keep this blog from getting forsaken. A little interest from potential readers may prove very helpful in this seemingly humble endeavour. And even if the readership stays at zero level, which it probably will, perhaps I will at least find out about the meaning of it all and gladly share this information.

Indeed, so far this introduction hasn't quite explained what I actually intend to publish here to attract attention. Now, that's just kind of a dim projection yet. Well, if you by some sort of weird unimaginable accident got as far as this sentence, let me give you a hint or two. Following are two of my... well, poems. Don't take their poetic quality for granted, though. I ain't no Robert Frost. Even so, here they are; read, mock, praise, react, send your own - thanks for reading anyway.


miss
-----

miss usa tumbled.
missed a step.
breast implants humbled.
teeth gapped.

miss usa swayed.
lame duck.
some say: shit!
she said: fuck!


A hymn? To what?
-------------------

Cases unfolded,
Instruments are out.
Attendants hold it,
Settles the crowd.

Once it sits down
And chairs bent readily,
Silence comes round,
And so heavily.

The mass may begin,
Conductor points to the sky -
Concerto in X minor, herein,
Op. 27, "Live and let die".