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The Torch
In my first-ever Old Town School of Folk Music
songwriting class session, we were being asked to come up with song ideas on the spot. I'd written a "list" song
(and a rather lame one, at that) a couple weeks before that I called "Don't" (can you FEEL the teen angst?) and,
hoping to get a leg up on the assignment, I announced that as my idea. Karma prevailed, though, because what
Ralph heard was "dote" and that was what he wrote on the board. Alas,
I was unable to get away with my sad attempt at trickery and actually had to write a proper, new song for class.
As it turned out, my lack of diction was a blessing in disguise (and an issue to work out in future songwriting
class assignments).
Lyrics:
Called her up for the fortieth time
You tried flowers, jewelry and wine
You want a piece but you're still last in line
The bells are ringing, can't you hear them chime
But your torch is burning for her
And you think that you adore her
If you could just learn to ignore her
Candy, roses, but it's still no use
You crave her nectar, but she's holdin' back the juice
Three little words and she could cut you loose
Did you think you'd win her if you just took the abuse
But your torch is burning brightly
And she says "no" so politely
But you're still doting on her nightly
Seven years and you're still in pursuit
You kiss her feet, but all you're getting is the boot
You're robbing banks for her, she's keeping all the loot
You're diving out, but she's still holding the chute
But your torch is burning stronger
And you hold on a little longer
And you swear you'll never wrong her
Did you think it would make her yours?
Did you think it would make her yours?
Did you think it would make her yours?
