Ev'rything Stops... In Terre Haute

Some years ago, my father Patrick wrote lyrics for a cabaret-style song about the interminable train delays in Terre Haute, Indiana, and invited (dared?) me to set them to music. So I did.

It took a few years, but here is a simple reading for voice and piano, by Patrick’s colleague at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods College, Tracy Richardson.

Lyrics after the jump.

Ev’rything Stops

Lyrics: Patrick G. Harkins
Music: H. James Harkins

In Paris,
there is nothing amiss
when lovers kiss,
in je n’sais quoi-sible bliss.
In a café
on the Champs-Elysées,
they sip café au lait
and say the life there is gay.

But people take note:
the birds and bees, they don’t.
Nobody does it in Terre Haute.

‘Cause when the trains lumber through,
there is nothing to do.
Ev’rything stops in Terre Haute.
When the diesel whistles blow,
oh, don’t we all know,
Ev’rything stops in Terre Haute.

A long time ago,
people would go to know,
love high and low
in San Francisco.
With flow’rs in their hair,
sweet aroma in the air,
they sang songs by the Embarcadero.

But people take note:
the birds and bees, they don’t.
Nobody does it in Terre Haute.

‘Cause when the trains lumber through,
there is nothing to do.
Ev’rything stops in Terre Haute.
When the diesel whistles blow,
oh, don’t we all know,
Ev’rything stops in Terre Haute.

If Hoagy were there, or Cole Porter would care,
They would make Terre Haute more than a song’s obscure footnote,
They would write a song, All the people sing along,
As the river flows on, ‘til the stardust is gone.
But from dusk ‘til dawn, the freight trains roll on.

‘Cause when the trains lumber through,
there is nothing to do.
Ev’rything stops in Terre Haute.
When the diesel whistles blow,
oh, don’t we all know,
Ev’rything stops in Terre Haute.

(CC-NC-BY-SA: Creative Commons Non-Commercial, Attribution, ShareAlike)

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