----- BACKGROUND INFO -----
I wrote this song during my continuing struggle to recover
from a terrible spiritual low-period of my life. As an act
of self-preservation, there are things which I can't tell
you about the harm which was inflicted on me - but, I can
share this: My daughter was stolen from me. I was taught
just how worthless my Constitutional and Civil Rights were,
regarding defense against criminals; how futile a defense,
for responsible parenthood; for protection of children. I
survived the point where my only remaining option was to
flee to where the criminals couldn't get at me. I'll be
separated forever from any contact with my beloved daughter
- this condition has endured for more than three years, and
there's no end in sight.
This song contains certain truths, which nobody was or will
ever be willing to say to my daughter. (Admission of those
truths would be acknowledgment of crimes having been
committed by a mother, and by people in positions of
political and civil power.) These truths are only the tip of
the iceberg, but they're foundational - some of those things
from which other things follow. If it wasn't blatantly
hazardous to do so, I'd share those truths with my beloved
daughter, for the sake of her spiritual well-being. However,
any direct attempt at being a father is guaranteed to have
only one result - more damage inflicted on me; no
value or benefit, for my daughter. So, I put some of those
truths into a song. Maybe some day, fate will put the song
where she'll find it - and, she'll have the chance to
understand that when her father left her, it wasn't
willingly - that, she was robbed, of the chance to have the
benefit of having her father in her life. Then again, maybe
she'll never hear it. Maybe she'll never know any of the
truths tucked into the lyrics and music of this song. I
can't predict which will be the case.
Stylistically, I intended this song to have roots in the
type of blues one might hear off old recordings. This shows
up mainly in the vocals, which I decided to not refine or
modify. It's also found in the chord progressions, and use
a fairly slow 3/4 time signature. Those blues roots are then
modified via use of electric rhythm guitar, for adding a
taste of modern electric blues. A dash of folk stlye was
added, via the acoustic rhythm guitar during the verses.
Bongos add a hint of native American music, or perhaps, of a
"beater" pounding a drum to create a rhythm for
slaves to perform their tasks to. Tambourine barely hints at
chains rattling as slaves slowly perform their repetitive,
laborious tasks. A consideration during composition and
orchestration, was that I wanted to include a feel that a
bunch of guys got together to do some music, and this was
what it sounded like. In line with that idea, I decided to
not seek to make the meshing of rhythmic patterns exactly
"right on". Instead, I left some "slop",
trying to obtain that "live performance" feel. (In
live performances, the musicians involved are virtually
never entirely in synch throughout the entire song -
instead, they tend to just barely slip out of synch every
now and then, due to the individual musicians'
interpretation of the ongoing rhythms, and their periodic
insertion of rhythmic variations of pattern for the sake of
artistic color. Every now and then, those variations create
momentary conflicts of patterns. If those conflicts of
pattern aren't present, then it wasn't performed live.)
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----- TO HEAR THE ACTUAL SONG -----
This song has been posted online at
songscribbler.com
. Songscribbler provides preview clips of the music, for
visitors to listen to and decide whether they like it enough
to download the entire song. It only costs 50 cents to
download a copy of the full song; 40 cents of which is paid
to the artist (in this case, me).
(At last - a business method and model, which
doesn't rip off the composing artist!)
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----- LYRICS -----
"MY POOR BABY"
Copyright (C) 2003 thru 2005, by: John L. Fordham
All Rights Reserved
(NOTE: Items in parentheses are spoken as vs. sung.)
==============================
Been years, since I saw my poor baby.
(Eileen.)
Three years, since I moved out of town.
Three years, since her mother court-raped me.
(Perjury.)
Hard years, since they tore my life down.
My tears will not help my poor baby -
those tears, that I've cried in the night.
No, tears won't protect my poor baby.
My tears cannot set wrong to right.
They made sure my poor baby can't know me -
(Who is she now?)
they don't care, 'bout the crimes that were done.
They won't let my poor baby have her daddy.
They don't want her to know right from wrong.
(No father, for that child!)
Oh, no one will tell my poor baby
what the truth is, or expose all the lies.
Oh, no one does care for my poor baby,
'cept her daddy, who's away in exile.
Some day, I might see my poor baby,...
(Eileen?)
On that day, she won't know me at all.
(Who will she be?)
On that day, I would tell my poor baby
why she didn't have me in her life.
Why she didn't have me in her life.
(Why I couldn't be there, in her life.)
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