Il Dolore Di Mio Padre

I never do claim to be a good musician, but what I write comes from my heart and is, to me, necessary.

  The lyrics to this song my father wrote.  He requested I write music to put it to.

  He hasn’t written a song in upward of 30 years.  It took him close to 2 years to write the words to a point that he was satisfied.  He used the above painting, "Nighthawks", as an inspiration.

  I accepted the challenge to write the song, but I worried that I could never do the song justice.  Last Christmas (2011) I was working on a new song but my lyrics just felt all wrong.  At the suggestion of my father, I plugged in his lyrics to the tune I had been working on and they fit like a glove.

  We sat down and played side by side:

You see him everywhere you go.

He always seems to sit all alone.

His mind is always on, something else.

Some problem to solve, or to be put a shelf.

The waitresses all know him as their friend.

Someone who is kind but, yet in the end.

He is always something, to someone else.

But inside he feels nothing, to himself.

His loneliness is deep and never understood.

By others around him, nor himself, even though he should.

You see he lives it every day, from morning until dawn.

Then again in his dreams all night long.

The waitresses all know him as their friend.

Someone who is kind, but yet in the end.

He is always something, to someone else.

But inside he feels nothing, to himself.

He wonders what went wrong, so many years ago.

When life had more meaning with a clear and certain goal.

Of which he can’t remember, or did it really exist?

Or was it one of life’s illusions, that he just could not resist.

The waitresses all know him as their friend.

Someone who is kind but, yet in the end.

He is always something, to someone else.

But inside he feels nothing, to himself.

So he sits alone in the Diner and stares off into space.

Contemplates his next move, in life’s elusive race.

Ai miei amici (comprendete per favore): la vita è più di dolore.