Stirling Psycho

November 1, 2026 Sally12 Comments

Today’s Song Lyric Sunday is to find a song that was written or performed by someone who was born in the month of November.

This may be a stretch, but I’m going with Tina Weymouth (DOB 11/22/1950) who was a founding member of Talking Heads. She is credited with co-writing Psycho Killer. Her writing contribution was the French thrown into the song (Qu’est-ce que c’est?) along with playing the bass that is so integral to the song.

I was a teenager in the ’70s when this song was a hit. Did I listen to it then? No. Did I listen to Talking Heads? No. I’m late to this party.

I stumbled into Psycho Killer via a Scottish band called Stramash. They have a song called Stirling Psycho.

When I typed “Stirling Psycho” into the search bar, I had AI questioning me.

Did I mean “Stirling Psychology” and want to learn about the Department of Psychology at the University of Stirling? — No, I did not.

Did I mean “stir-psycho” which is prison slang for stir-crazy? — No, I did not.

Did I mean “Clarice Starling”, the iconic FBI trainee who squares off against a psychopath in the legendary psychological thriller The Silence of the Lambs? — No, I did not.

I meant Stirling Psycho, a song by Stramash, a Celtic/Folk/Rock Band. They fuse traditional Scottish songs with rock songs, like, say, taking Stirling Brig, a traditional ballad about The Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297, and riffing into Psycho Killer, a song by Talking Heads.

Here are all the things I love about this song:

It’s an earworm. Be prepared.
The Stramash version is a fusion of two different stories/sounds/cultures. We need more reaching across the aisle, don’t you think?
The Talking Heads video is just funny. There’s no blood or gore, just suggested/relatable psycho-crazy.

The Stramash version is 8 minutes (it includes Stirling Brig). I recommend Talking Heads’ Psycho Killer video which is a little over 4 minutes; as I said above, the video is fun/funny. Choose your poison. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. It makes me sound like a psycho killer.

The lyrics are at the end.

Lyrics

I can’t seem to face up to the facts
I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax
I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire
Don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire

Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh
Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh, oh, oh, oh
Ay-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya, ooh

You start a conversation, you can’t even finish it
You’re talking a lot, but you’re not saying anything
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed
Say something once, why say it again?

Ce que j’ai fait, ce soir-là
Ce qu’elle a dit, ce soir-là
Réalisant mon espoir
Je me lance vers la gloire, okay
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they’re not polite

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Chris Frantz / David Byrne / Tina Weymouth
Psycho Killer lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc

Music

The Cowboy’s Lament

October 25, 2026 Sally6 Comments

It’s Song Lyric Sunday. Today’s prompt is “to find a song about the American West, or one that mentions cowboys, a sheriff, an outlaw, horses, cactus, or tumbleweeds.“

I was raised on folk music. My father especially loved Burl Ives. In the 60s The Smothers Brothers albums entered our lives. I LOVED the Smothers Brothers. Still do. In fact, I’ve started playing them again mostly because I need something to smile about. They never fail to make me laugh.

So I’m posting below both versions of “The Cowboy’s Lament” aka “The Streets of Laredo.” I’m only posting the lyrics to the Burl Ives version. You’ll have to listen to the Smothers Brothers to hear their twisted irreverence. Their voices harmonize so beautifully – and they make me laugh. They always me laugh. Have I mentioned that they are FUNNY?

The song is the story of dying cowboy — not funny at all. It’s a lament. He’s been shot and is dying. He gives his final wishes to another cowboy. “Beat the drum slowly, play the fife lowly” etc. It’s sad.

Apparently it’s a rewrite of an Irish-British Ballad about a dying sailor. Frank Maynard, a poet and balladeer of the Old West, turned the song from “The Unfortunate Rake” into “The Dying Cowboy” and published it in 1911.

Here are the lyrics:

As I walked out in the streets of Laredo
As I walked out in Laredo one day
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay

I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy
These words he did say as I boldly walked by
Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story
I’m shot in the breast and I know I must die

It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing
Once in the saddle I used to go gay
First down to Rosie’s and then to the card house
Got shot in the breast and I’m dying today

Get sixteen gamblers to carry my coffin
Get six jolly cowboys to sing me a song
Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o’er me
For I’m a young cowboy and know I’ve done wrong

Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin
Get six pretty maidens to sing me a song
Take me to the valley and lay the sod o’er me
For I’m a young cowboy, and know I’ve done wrong

Oh beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly
Play the Dead March as they carry me along
Put bunches of roses all over my coffin
Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall

As I walked out in the streets of Laredo
As I walked out in Laredo one day
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay

Here’s Burl Ives singing The Cowboy’s Lament:

And a clip of the very irreverent Smothers Brothers version:

Music

Isn’t She Lovely

October 11, 2026October 11, 2026 Sally10 Comments

Lyrics:

Isn’t she lovely
Isn’t she wonderful
Isn’t she precious
Less than one minute old

I never thought through love we’d be
Making one as lovely as she
But isn’t she lovely, made from love

Isn’t she pretty
Truly the angel’s best
Boy, I’m so happy
We have been heaven blessed

I can’t believe what God has done
Through us he’s given life to one
But isn’t she lovely, made from love

Isn’t she lovely
Life and love are the same
Life is Aisha
The meaning of her name
Londie, it could have not been done
Without you who conceived the one
That’s so very lovely, made from love, hey

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Stevie Wonder
Isn’t She Lovely lyrics © Black Bull Music, Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Stevie Wonder wrote this song after holding his daughter Aisha for the first time. I opted to post the longer track which is from the album Songs in the Key of Life. (There are shorter versions available on YouTube.) It opens with a baby crying. That’s Aisha in the delivery room. It closes with audio of Stevie Wonder giving her a bath.

The lyrics speak for themselves. He is smitten with this child. It’s a feeling any new parent can identify with.

This is my submission for Song Lyric Sunday. This week, we are asked to find a song about a girl. October 11 is the International Day of the Girl Child. “It’s purpose is to recognize girls’ rights and highlight the unique challenges, discrimination, and inequalities they face globally, such as lack of education access, forced child marriage, and gender-based violence.”

Life · Music

Leaving on a Jet Plane

September 20, 2026 Sally5 Comments

I am late to the party, but this week’s Song Lyric Sunday is to post a song that has to do with withdrawing or moving away. The song that immediately came to mind was “Leaving on a Jet Plane” — and I was quite sure that at least three other people would have already posted that song.

As of this writing, I didn’t see that anyone else had posted it.

Who knew that John Denver actually wrote the song? I grew up listening to folk music like the Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul and Mary. Peter, Paul and Mary performed the version that I best remember.

John Denver wrote it in 1966 and called it “Babe, I Hate to Go.” According to Wikipedia, he made several copies and gave it out as a Christmas present that year. At the urging of his then-producer, Milt Okun, he changed the name in 1967 to “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

Peter, Paul and Mary picked it up in 1967 and put it on their album “Album 1700.” It was released as a single in 1969 when it became a hit.

Did I understand this song at the ripe old age of 9 or 10 when I first heard it? No.

Did I listen to it often enough that I learned and still know every single word? Yes.

Lyrics:

[Verse 1]
All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go
I’m standin’ here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breakin’ it’s early morn
The taxi’s waitin’, he’s blowin’ his horn
Already I’m so lonesome I could cry

[Chorus]
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go
I’m leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go

[Verse 2]
There’s so many times I’ve let you down
So many times I’ve played around
I tell you now, they don’t mean a thing
Every place I go I think of you
Every song I sing I sing for you
When I come back I’ll wear your wedding ring (I’ll wear your ring)

Verse 3]
Now the time has come to leave you
One more time let me kiss you
Then close your eyes, I’ll be on my way
Dream about the days to come
When I won’t have to leave alone
About the time I won’t have to say (I won’t have to say)

[Chorus]
Kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go
I’m leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go

Music

Rocks and Trees and Water

August 30, 2026 Sally7 Comments

I’m writing from above the clouds over Canada on my way to visit my son in British Columbia.

I had looked at the theme for Song Lyric Sunday — a song that celebrates sandy beaches — and started scouring my brain and my list of Beach Boys songs.

Can I be honest here? I’m not beachy person.

The Beach Boys song I kept going back to had nothing to do with beaches — but I knew that Brian Wilson had written the Pet Sounds album largely from his sandbox — in his living room — with his piano placed in the sandbox so he could feel the sand between his toes while he wrote. For that album, he wrote the song, “God Only Knows” with Ted Asher in less than an hour. It is my all time favorite Beach Boys song.

But the song doesn’t mention sand or beaches or anything.

And I’m in an airplane flying over Canada.

After the border crossing, while driving in Canada, some people passed in their pickup truck and made awful faces at us. Honestly, it made me laugh.

I mean, yes, I’m from New York. But Lake Ontario will be Lake Ontario to me no matter what anyone says.

And Canadians are the nicest people in the world no matter what anyone says.

So I hearkened back to an Arrogant Worms song called “Rocks and Trees.”

What is sand but ground up rocks?

And what is a beach but those ground up rocks near water?

So basically Canada is one big beach, right?

Lyrics:

My country’s bigger than most
And if asked I boast
‘Cause I’m really proud
So I shout it loud
Though our numbers are few
We will welcome you

Although we don’t have history
Gold medal winning teams
Heroes or prisoners
World famous volcanoes
Still what we’ve got’s glorious

‘Cause we’ve got
Rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And water

All right, everyone!
We’ve got
Rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And water

In Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada,
Ca-an-a-da, Can-a-da.
Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada,
Ca-an-a-da, Canada.

I’m going to put this here, too. It’s a song about dependency and vulnerability and the complex relationships we have with those we love most.

Besides, God only knows where we’d be without Canada — and I don’t want to find out.

family · Music

Roamin’ in the Gloamin’

August 22, 2026 Sally4 Comments

The music we hear as a child shapes us, doesn’t it? Last week, I wrote about “Night on Bald Mountain” in response to the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt. I can still picture the sleeve for the vinyl record we had.

This week, as soon as I saw the prompt, starts with gl–, my mind went to a song that my father used to play. He loved a Scottish tenor named Kenneth McKellar. If I close my eyes, I can still hear “Roamin’ in the Gloamin'” sung in that magnificent voice.

I remember asking my father what gloaming is. It’s evening or dusk. The song is about a fellow walking at that time of day with his sweetheart.

I think dawn and dusk ARE the prettiest times of day. There’s something about the liminal time, when it’s not quite one thing or the other, that makes it magical.

As the song says, “When the sun has gone to rest, that’s the time that we love best — Oh, it’s lovely roamin’ in the gloamin’.”

Music

Night on Bald Mountain

August 15, 2026 Sally2 Comments

Today’s SoC prompt is Bald, Balled, Bawled. I fell asleep last night trying to think about the last time I bawled so I could write about it. When was it? I couldn’t remember.

When I sat down to write this morning, bawled was out the window and bald was in. This is what came out —

A few weeks I was in Maine. On one of the days, we hiked and reached an overlook that had one of those pictures that identified the mountains we were seeing. One of them was called Bald Mountain — and immediately I was transported to my childhood.

We had a vinyl record that I listened to often. On one side was The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – Fantasia, and, because of that, Mickey Mouse was on the album sleeve. On the other side was Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain.

I started singing Night on Bald Mountain to my friend — DAH DAH Da-Da-Da-DAH DA-DA da-da-da-DAH DAH! He looked at my like I had two heads. How does one sing a piece of classical music?

Truth be told, the Mickey Mouse side — The Sorcerer’s Apprentice was too scary for me, so I preferred the foreboding music of Bald Mountain.

And the day we were on the hike, the weather kept thinking about raining, although not a thunderstorm. Still the vista was cloudy and gave me the sense of potential storm, as on Bald Mountain.

This may or may not be the vista that identified Bald Mountain, but it was from that same day.

If you’re not familiar with the music, take a few minutes and listen to the Mussorgsky piece. Picture a little girl putting it on the record player in her room and falling asleep to it. That may explain a lot about me.

Music

Tenderness and Thyme

August 9, 2026 Sally13 Comments

This week for Song Lyric Sunday the theme is to find a song that mentions a spice.

Hmm… when I thought about cooking songs, the theme song for Milton the Monster immediately came to mind. This show ran 1965 – 68. It’s about a Frankenstein-like monster created in a spooky looking mansion by a mad professor. At a key moment in the process though, Professor Weirdo’s elbow is bumped and too much “Tincture of Tenderness” goes in. The result — a very goofy monster named Milton. I still can sing every word of the intro song.

Is Tincture of Tenderness a spice? It certainly adds “flavor.” Honestly, a lot of folks these days could use an elbow-bump of it.

Narrator:
On top of old Horror Hill, in a secret laboratory
Professor Weirdo and Count Kook were in their monstrous glory

Professor Weirdo:
Six drops of The Essence of Terror
Five drops of Sinister Sauce

Count Kook:
When the stirring’s done, may I lick the spoon?

Professor Weirdo:
Of course! A-ha! Of course!
Now for the Tincture of Tenderness
But I must use only a touch
For without a touch of tenderness
It might destroy me…

[Kook accidentally knocks Weirdo’s arm]

Professor Weirdo:
…Oops! Too much!
Better hold your breath, it’s starting to tick!

Count Kook:
Better hold my hand, I’m feeling sick!

[the monster arises]

Milton the Monster:
Hello, Daddy!

Professor Weirdo:
What have I done?

Milton the Monster:
I’m Milton, your brand new son!

The other song that came to mind was “Wild Mountain Thyme.” Below is a video of Kate Rusby — whose voice is GORGEOUS — singing this traditional irish/Scottish song. In the 18th century, poet Robert Tannahill wrote “The Braes of Balquhither.” Then, in the 1950s, Belfast musician Francis McPeake adapted these lyrics and melody into the version known today. The song goes by many names — “Wild Mountain Thyme”, “Blooming Heather”, “Purple Heather”, and “Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go.”

I know — thyme is an herb, not a spice. You’ll have to agree, though, that this is a lovely song.

Lyrics:
Oh, the summer time is coming,
And the trees are sweetly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.

Will you go, lassie, will you go?
And we’ll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather,
Will you go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a bower
By yon clear and crystal fountain,
And all around the bower,
I’ll pile flowers from the mountain.

I will roam the country o’er
Through that dark land so dreary;
And all the spoils I find,
I’ll bring to my darling dearie.

If my true love, she won’t have me,
I will surely find another
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather.

Oh, the summertime is coming
And thre trees are blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.

Music

Song Lyric Sunday: Richard Shindell

August 2, 2026 Sally6 Comments

Born August 3, 1960

I cheered when I saw that he was born in August — because that’s the challenge for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday. This week the theme is to find a song that was written or performed by someone who was born in the month of August. It proved not to be an easy task.

Richard Shindell is an American folk singer. He wrote a response song to The Beatles’ song She’s Leaving Home. I’ll put both songs below. If you’re not familiar with The Beatles’ song, skip down and listen to that first. Without it, Shindell’s song, Bye Bye, may not make sense. Somewhere I remember reading that Shindell had written his song as a song-writing exercise, trying to imagine what life would have been like for the parents of the girl who left home and just left a note behind.

Ten years to the day her father’s in the garden
He’s kept it as it was the day she went away
On every life some rain must fall
It doesn’t mean we let the roses go

Ten years to the day her mother’s in the kitchen
She’s standing at the backdoor, “Come, love, have some tea.”
It took a bit of getting used to
Only setting out two places

I could bring her back to them
With a few strokes of this fountain pen
All’s forgiven, start again

I could put her in a taxi idling at the corner
Working up her nerve and wondering what she’ll say
Remembering how she left that morning
Recalling how they both were snoring

I could bring her back to them
With a few strokes of this fountain pen
All’s forgiven, start again

That man from the motor trade
Ran off with a meter maid

Roses, wild, have spilled into the alley
Backdoor off its hinges, the grass grown high
Ten years to the day and counting
That little note she wrote? That’s all she wrote

I could bring her back to them
With a few strokes of this fountain pen
All’s forgiven, start again

But I can’t bring her back to them
That’s not how this story ends
As is written so it ends
Bye-bye

Wednesday morning at five o’clock
As the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more

She goes down the stairs to the kitchen
Clutching her handkerchief
Quietly turning the backdoor key
Stepping outside, she is free

She, … (we gave her most of our lives)
Is leaving (sacrified most of our lives)
Home (we gave her everything money could buy)

Father snores as his wife gets into her dressing gown
Picks up the letter that’s lying there
Standing alone at the top of the stairs
She breaks down and cries to her husband
Daddy, our baby’s gone.
Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly?
How could she do this to me?

She (we never thought of ourselves)
Is leaving (never a thought for ourselves)
Home (we struggled hard all our lives to get by)
She’s leaving home, after living alone, for so many years

Friday morning, at nine o’clock
She is far away
Waiting to keep the appointment she made
Greeting a man from the Motortrade

She (what did we do that was wrong)
Is Having (we didn’t know it was wrong)
Fun (fun is the one thing that money can’t buy)

Something inside, that was always denied,
for so many years, .
She’s leaving home

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Paul Mccartney / John Lennon
She’s Leaving Home lyrics © Sony/atv Tunes Llc, Mpl Communications Inc

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Faith

Concert

April 3, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally2 Comments

C is for concert.

Music weaves its way through the fabric of the days at Laity Lodge.

The sessions begin and end with song, usually old hymns for which the hymnbook may only be half-necessary.

Like the time we sang, “Shall We Gather at the River.” I don’t really know all the verses to that one — just the chorus — so I used the hymnal. I got really confused, however, when the melody we sang didn’t match the music in front of me. It’s the plight of a music-reader to notice such things.

My favorite part of a concert is when the performer forgets their lyrics. At that moment, something shifts from a performance to a sharing of imperfections, from an act on a stage to a friend who is willing to open up and reveal some deeper truth about themselves.

At the concert on the last night at Laity Lodge, the musicians sang their songs, forgot a few lyrics, and then gave us the privilege of hearing some new material.

“You mind if I share a new song?”

No, no, we didn’t mind at all when both Andrew Peterson and Andy Gullahorn asked that question. It was a pleasure to be their guinea pigs.

At times, the vulnerability made me want to look away.

How hard it must be to expose fears and struggles — from a stage. A few lines from one new AP song —

I tried to be brave and I hid in the dark.
I sat in that cave and I prayed for a spark
To burn up all the pain that remained in my heart,
But the rain kept falling down.

AP also sang a song dedicated to his wife asking if they would survive and I ached inside for them. At that moment, I wished my husband were beside me so I could slide my hand into his warmer, larger hand, and feel the squeeze of reassurance.

Beauty lives in the hard places — and we need to be reminded of that.

We do survive.

And even those who don’t can experience new life in other ways.

Easter is especially a time to be mindful of that.

Out of our greatest grief comes our greatest joy.

Thanks for the concert and the reminders.