Canciones más populares de Will Van Dyke
Créditos
AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Will Van Dyke
Klavier
Jeff Talbott
Künstler:in
Kate Baldwin
Leadgesang
Graham Rowat
Leadgesang
Colin Rowat
Leadgesang
Kiku Enomoto
Geige
Allison Seidner
Cello
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Will Van Dyke
Songwriter:in
Jeff Talbott
Songwriter:in
Patrick Sulken
Arrangeur:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Will Van Dyke
Produzent:in
Jeff Talbott
Produzent:in
Derik Lee
Mischtechniker:in
Oscar Zambrano
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Letras
There's a funny thing about Christmas
That we tend to forget ev'ry year,
An odd kind of thing bout the holiday
That disappears as Christmas draws near.
In my years of gifting and giving
(And receiving when gifts come to me),
I've noticed one thing that's worth sharing:
Nothing you get comes for free.
That's a lot to take in for a starter.
Let me back up and first say Hello.
I'm a white-haired and bearded old fellow,
And I'm someone you probably know.
But I'm here to tell you a story
(That I hope you'll enjoy and not taunt)
Bout a kid who got what he asked for,
A thing he didn't know he might want.
I'll be calling this little guy Eric,
An average name for a boy
But it could be a girl named, like, Sarah,
Or a Johnny or Jessie or Joy.
The point of the story is bigger
Than who the story's about.
But I'm getting ahead of it -- sorry.
I'll back up. There's no need to shout.
This happened when you were much younger,
When cell phones weren't even a thing
When each day seemed oh, so much longer,
And mothers all knew how to sing.
(I know they're still singing today, sure.
But you have to admit it seems rarer.
More distractions keep all of us busy,
And we worry bout making an error.
So we tend to not sing and stay busy,
As we struggle to get through the day.
When we might do much better to be singing
While keeping our worries at bay.
I'm getting off-track again, darn it,
Not following the rules to the letter.
So back to the story of Eric
(Or of Sarah, if you think that's better.))
It's four weeks or so before Christmas
When this tale begins to take wing,
With our hero (or heroine) starting
To make lists for a Christmas-y thing.
In your house it might've been dif'rent,
But in this house they were given this task:
To choose one thing that they really wanted
Since Can I have more? is too much to ask.
So this kid was sitting and thinking
When mom came and sat very near,
And said:
Are you making your list for Christmas?
And the kid answered, trembling with fear:
I want so much, and it's hard, Mom,
To be narrowing my list down to one.
Like a bike, or magic kit, or crayons,
Or a game or a new BB gun.
Well a gun's not the answer, now, is it?
There are so many new ways to play.
So keep thinking, and I'll bet that you get there --
You don't have to answer today.
Then she sat there, quietly humming,
While the kid kept crossing out stuff,
And though it mostly was wordless, all music
Is language, if you listen closely enough.
The broken things . . .
The broken things . . .
Then Mom leaned in and gave one kiss,
Which was wiped off once she was gone,
And Eric (or Sarah) kept writing
And deleting and on and on and on.
I'll skip forward a bit, maybe two weeks,
And the clock is now ticking much faster.
Because Christmas will be here so quickly,
And desire is such a strong master.
So the kid went to Mom with an answer,
And Mom was ready to hear.
Are you here to say what you're wanting
For Santa to bring you this year?
And the answer was kind of surprising,
Cause the kid said it without even thinking:
Is it possible to get a piano?
And Mom stood there, just quietly blinking.
I don't know if I'll like it or even
If my playing will be any good.
But I like hearing you humming and singing
And I was thinking that maybe I should
Try to learn to make music, so maybe
With a piano of my very own
I could find out what songs I'll be singing
When I'm gone from here and I'm grown.
Well, that's lovely, but that gift's a big one,
And Santa is probably busy.
But if you want it, then ask for it, and maybe
It won't put him into a tizzy.
As the kid walked away, she felt frightened,
Because money was scarce in their house.
But she got herself back together
And went to talk to her spouse.
This is part of the story that's hidden --
When Moms and Dads talk about money
It's not usually known by the children,
Because finances are no fun and not funny.
But one night after brushing and flossing,
The kid passed by their bedroom's blue door
And heard Dad say I really don't know, hon.
And then Mom said:
But we can do more.
I hope we can make Christmas special.
And then Dad's said: You're right. in reply.
So you think Santa could do it?
And Dad said Oof. I'm sure that he'll try.
Now we'll jump to early that Christmas,
And by early I mean six-o-three.
Because Christmas is not made for sleeping,
The kid woke and ran down to the tree.
And right next to it was a piano,
A small one, much shorter in size
By one octave on each end, but still it
Was a magical 64-key prize.
As the kid plunked one note in the middle,
Mom and Dad came out, barely woken,
And the kid looked at the small keyboard
And said I think this piano is broken.
There were chips in the keys, so the kid thought
The piano would get taken away.
But Mom said:
Why not give it a try, love?
And the kid sat and started to play.
Now, by playing, I don't mean a song, no
Just some misshapen notes, barely played.
Then he asked his parents what happened,
How this imperfect keyboard was made.
We asked Santa that very same question,
And we coaxed him with cookies he ate.
And he said:
Well, the elves were so busy
Since the order came in very late.'
It's not perfect, but still a piano.
And music is never a chore.
So the kid turned back to the keyboard,
And tried the melody Mom sang before.
Mom knew it, and she started singing,
And Dad joined in once in awhile.
And the song filled the house like a candle sheds light
Like a hug causes someone to smile.
I heard a secret
Long, long ago
About how presents
Can come to show
How much love sparkles,
How much love sings
How the greatest gifts
Are the broken things.
It's not perfection
Making life grand.
Embrace the flaws,
Try to understand
How we need music
Like birds need wings
How the greatest gifts
Are the broken things.
And oh
You'll find this glow --
The light behind a smile makes shadows fade.
You'll know
Each day you grow
To look for perfect in the things that you have made.
Hold to this secret
When you feel blue.
This little secret
From us to you:
Please don't be perfect.
We don't need perfect.
You're our gift tied with crazy strings.
All the greatest gifts are perfectly
Imperfect, which means actually quite perfect things.
You probably think that I'm Santa,
That's how Christmas tales tend to be.
But the funny thing bout this story
Is the kid at the keyboard is me.
And that was the very best Christmas
I remember it when life leaves me bruised.
Because I wanted a piano so badly,
That my parents found one that was used.
And I know they couldn't afford it,
But they got it for me all the same.
As I practiced and learned how to play it,
It became my most favorite game.
It still sits there in my old bedroom,
And when I visit, it calls me and sings
About how the best presents surprise you,
And how music fixes all broken things.
The broken things . . .
The broken things . . .
The broken things . . .
Written by: Jeff Talbott, Will Van Dyke
