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Morning
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A poem of mine, really more than a lyric, that I set to music.
singer songwriter acoustic beatles music florida new york love songs writer college performer larry whitler robin macblane
Artist picture
I am a solo singer/songwriter. My music is mostly soft although my songs could easily be performed in mostly any style.
For me, it's all about the song. That mysteriously magical thing that happens when a lyric is married to a melody. The writing process is invigorating and exciting while simultaneously being exasperating and difficult. It is that moment when music is being composed and a lyric is being written when I am truly the "artist at his easel." The creative process continues when the song is brought into the studio to be recorded because, as in writing, the production and arrangement processes also have their own sets of challenges. Those challenges are always dictated by the song itself and the task at hand at that moment is to be true to the song and carefully craft a recording that reflects what the song is about. Part three, for me, is to then take that song and perform it. It is the purest form of displaying this work of art called a song and is the only place where the magic of the creation is reflected back to me from a room full of interested listeners. And at that moment it is only as magical as the audience makes me believe it is. My CDs are all available on CDBaby.com.
Song Info
Genre
Pop Indie Pop
Author
Larry Whitler
Rights
2002 and 2007 Larry Whitler
Uploaded
September 02, 2007
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.8 MB 256 kbps 4:12
Lyrics
Morning, I said To my partner in rhyme. It's dawn through my door But I don't know the time. I really should shower Beginning my day. But I'd rather write poetry. I rather would play. Morning, I whispered To a roach by the sink. You're awfully familiar. We've met once I think. I'll make instant coffee And smoke a cigar. But I'd rather be listening To songs in my car. Morning, I pondered, Is such a nice time. No creditors calling. No pressures to rhyme. Just early birds chirping And cool bursts of air. And I'd like to be driving With the wind in my hair. Morning, I giggled, To a pencil sketch nude. You're sprawled and you're sleeping And my staring is rude. But it's half what I live for It's half what I am. It's half of what separates Woman from man. Morning, I wondered, Why all of my days. I've mused at the morning Shrouded in haze. Some have had oceans, Skylines and hills. But all have held promise Of day's little thrills. Morning, I mumbled, The choice daily made. To do the expected. Or to just run away. But hope that a breakthrough Is just 'round the bend. Makes wanderlust wait. Makes responsible men. Morning, I'll say To dozens and scores. As I pass through the hallways And pass through the doors. Doing my duties And doing my chores. But I'd rather say, "Morning" At Quill And Keyboard.
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