Hadn't thought of this song in years, but a discussion on the afterlife (or lack thereof) on Slate's Faith-Based made me think of the Blood, Sweat and Tears version of this great song by the late, much lamented, Laura Nyro:
I'm not scared of dyin'
And I don't really care
If it's peace you find in dyin'
Well then let the time be near
Just bundle up my coffin
'Cause its cold way down there
And when I die
And when I'm gone
There'll be one child born
And a world to carry on
My troubles are many
They're deep as a well
I swear there ain't no heaven
And I pray there ain't no hell
But I'll never know by livin'
Only my dyin' will tell
And when I die
And when I'm gone
There'll be one child born
And a world to carry on
Give me my freedom
For as long as I be
All I ask of livin'
Is to have no chains on me
All I ask of livin'
Is to have no chains on me
And all I ask of dyin'
Is to go naturally
And when I die
And when I'm gone
There'll be one child born
And a world to carry on
4 comments:
Thomas Paine said...
More by Laura Nyro:
New York Tendaberry
Blue berry
A rush on rum
Of brush and drum
And the past is a blue note
Inside me
I ran away in the morning
New York tendaberry
Blue berry
Rugs and drapes and drugs
And capes
Sweet kids in hunger slums
Firecrackers break
And they cross
And they dust
And they skate
And the night comes
I ran away in the morning
Now I'm back
Unpacked
Sidewalk and pigeon
You look like a city
But you feel like a religion
To me
New York tendabery
True berry
I lost my eyes
I east wind skies
Here where I've cried
Where I've tried
Where God and the tendaberry rise
Where quakers and revolutionaries
Join for life
For precious years
Joined for life
Through silver tears
New York tendaberry
January 18, 2008 8:14 PM
Thomas Paine said...
On the same theme, this written in her memory:
Portrait of a Tendaberry Girl
I get a flame in my heart
Every time I hear the voice of reverie
It’s been alive from the start
I can tell you as she comes down to surry,
From Central Park westward
To Broadway and East 3rd
The Goth looking girl’s still there,
I will drink a toast to Eli
With some red and yellow wine
It’s gonna take a miracle now
To find a Tendaberry rhyme,
I can see the thunder’s fury
In her passion eyes of May
And when I die throw trains of blossoms
The New York,
Tendaberry way;
Laura
I get a pain in my heart
Just to think she’ll never write one more song
And she was chic from the start
Laura
Even when the business did her so wrong,
As music keeps changing
Her soul is raging
You better hide your hearts,
I will drink a toast to Billy
With some red and yellow wine
It’s gonna take a miracle now
To find a Tendaberry rhyme,
I can see the thunder’s fury
In her passion eyes of May
And when I die throw trains of blossoms
The New York,
Tendaberry way;
From slow dance to romance
An adolescent fantasy
It would have been my honor then
Just to walk with her through NYC,
I get a flame in my heart
Every time I hear the voice of reverie
It’s been alive from the start
Laura
I can tell you as she comes down to surry,
Critics are scheming
Websites are screaming
Stop analyzing her,
I will drink a toast to Eli
With some red and yellow wine
It’s gonna take a miracle now
To find a Tendaberry rhyme,
I can see the thunder’s fury
In her passion eyes of May
And when I die throw trains of blossoms
The New York,
Tendaberry way;
I will drink a toast in gladness
To her passion eyes of May
And when I die throw trains of blossoms
The New York,
Tendaberry way,
Evermore to hear her play
The New York,
Tendaberry way;
Composed, arranged and produced by Stephen Foglia
Copyright 2006
Ramblood Publishing Co.,/BMI
Ramblood Recon Records
January 18, 2008 8:29 PM
Primate said...
Always loved "Christmas in My Soul" - the war in the song is Viet-Nam, but sadly enough, the lyrics still work:
Come young braves
Come young children
Come to the book of love with me
Respect your brothers and your sisters
Come to the book of love
I know it ain't easy
But we're gonna look for a better day
Come young braves
Come young children.
I love my country as it dies
In war and pain before my eyes
I walk the streets where disrespect has been
The sins of politics, the politics of sin
The heartlessness that darkens my soul
On Christmas.
Red and silver on the leaves
Fallen white snow runs softly through the trees
Madonnas weep for wars of hell
They blow out the candles and haunt Noel
The missing love that rings through the work
On Christmas.
Black panther brothers bound in jail
Chicago seven and the justice scale
Homeless Indian on Manhattan Isle
All God's sons have gone to trial
And all God's love is out of style
On Christmas.
Christmas in my soul
Christmas in my soul
Christmas in my soul.
January 19, 2008 8:43 AM
Thomas Paine said...
Thanks for that, Primate, and glad you found your way here.
I realize that I do not have any Laura Nyro in digital format. I have to remedy that.
Now to prioritize what albums to acquire....
January 19, 2008 10:59 AM
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