(To tune of “This Can’t be Love,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

Don’t want to vote.
The candidates all suck
Vote Trump? Vote Clinton? Vote ne’er!

Don’t want to vote.
Would prefer Donald Duck.
To this madam or billionaire.

Oh make these two shut up
Cause when they speak.
My knees grow weak, from
Mal de mer.

Don’t want to vote.
A liar or a schmuck?
I’ll toss a coin in the air.

But it’s my right to vote.
No right to flout.
I’d be called out, so
I will vote.

Don’t want to vote.
But I’ll be at the polls.
To cast my vote in despair.

Lyric © by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved


American has always been a work in progress. Consider the Bill of Rights, The Civil War, The Warren Court. But underlying these enormous changes has been a foundational belief that life imbues every human being with dignity that must be protected; that considers each individual born worthy or respect. These beliefs led our founders to attempt this great, if imperfect, experiment in democracy, marched them to the promise of a higher ideal. That promise is our greatness. Slavery stained it but the strength and vision of Abraham Lincoln purged the stain. The Union victory, however, did not end the struggle towards equality. The fight with ourselves to live up to our ideals continues to this day when America seems to have lost its footing. We are stumbling along a path of divisiveness that is dangerous to the core of our democracy. This lyric is not a condemnation of our country which I love and admire for its accomplishments and big-heartedness. Rather, it is a challenge to regain our step and fulfill our promise. To continue to value reason above the use of force; to insure that all living here, black, white, Christian, Muslim, Jew or other, will enjoy equal opportunity and share in the great abundance with which we are blessed; and, to continue to offer sanctuary for the huddled masses fleeing tyranny, war or pervasive violence and economic slavery – never to turn away those in need solely because their foreignness makes us uncomfortable..

(To the tune of “America the Beautiful” by Samuel A. Ward & Katharine Lee Bates)

For worshipping a loaded gun.
For weapons close at hand.
For children murdered on the streets
Across a troubled land.
America, America.
Oh where, oh where art thee?
A brotherhood, we know is good.
America please be.

For darker skin of girls and boys
Whose future Race would steal.
For living one day in their skin.
For anger Just to feel.
America, America.
Oh where, oh where art thee?
A brotherhood, we know is good.
American please be.

For immigrants who come with hope
For freedoms they’d not had.
For watching o’er Miss Liberty.
When we know she is sad
America, America.
Oh where, oh where art thee?
A brotherhood, we know is good.
America please be.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved


The finale to the Summer of Romantic Fluff is my lyric to a lovely melody and main musical theme from the film Forrest Gump.  The movie begins with Forrest sitting on a bench while the camera follows a floating breeze-blown feather..  An evocative, metaphoric scene.

(To the tune of “Feather Theme,” From 1994 film, “Forrest Gump,” by Alan Silvestri)

Life can be free and light, a feather,
Floating on velvet air.
Life seems about to settle down, and,
Then it skips off somewhere.
Life is a Chekov play, a farce,
A tango with de-je-vu.
Life is each precious day I spend with you.

Anywhere life can lead, we’ll follow.
Mystery has its charms.
Anytime I feel lost, you’ll be there,
Guiding me to your arms.
I’m not a smart man, but I know,
What everyone surely knows-
Life is feather, tickling your toes.

Lyric copyright 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esq.
All rights reserved

You can find the film theme from the movie soundtrack on



In the 1960s I was writing songs with J.J. Jackson at Tender Tunes Music (Publishing arm of Kama Sutra Records which later became Buddah (later changed to Buddha) Records in the 1650 building on Broadway, NYC. J.J. and I wrote many good songs during that time. Most were rock and roll songs that were either never recorded or recorded and not released for often obscure music business reasons. J.J., a talented singer, musician and arranger, later went over to England and had success there with his hit song, “It’s All Right,” still played on oldies stations and some albums. But, back then we also wrote some jazz tunes and this is the lyric to one I’m posting as part of my Summer of Romantic Fluff which is winding down after Labor Day. I always liked this song and still play it on my home piano badly in need of an overhaul.

(Music by J.J. Jackson and Robert S. Steinberg, Lyrics by Robert S. Steinberg)

Spring mustn’t come this year.
Tell Mister Bluebird not to appear.
I couldn’t bear his song.
Spring mustn’t come this year.

The one I love has gone.
So let the lonely winds whisper on.
Lilacs would be all wrong.
Spring mustn’t come this year.

A warm sunny day with white clouds above.
Would only remind me of
Her warm, sunny face, now some other place
With some other lips so near.

Don’t let the sun shine forth.
Don’t let the songbirds wing their way north.
I couldn’t stand the cheer.
Spring mustn’t come this year.
Not while my love’s not here.

Lyric © 1963, 2016 by Robert Steinberg
All rights reserved


When I wrote the lyric “When Will I Ever Come Around,” a friend had asked, “How did you get to New England in a song about Syracuse in Sicily.” When I heard the melody back in 1983 I didn’t know anything about Syracuse. The melody struck me as longing and nostalgic. I thought of an idea I’d been tossing around in my mind that included Cape Cod and its wind-blown beaches. When I posted the lyric on August 31, 2016 as part of my summer of romantic fluff, I searched again for the music. The many You-tube posts triggered this alternative lyric. You can find one haunting version of the song at:

I still prefer my first lyric even though it’s not set in Syracuse. But, I hope this one satisfies my friend.

(To the melody of “Syracuse” by Henri Salvador)

When Syracuse was where you loved me.
The moonlight shimmered on the sand.
The stars were lucky charms above me.
My heart was putty in your hand.

The sunrise augured joy for me here
Still it reminds me of your smile
Days felt like heaven just to be here
With you in Syracuse a while.

Its streets once paved with dreams and magic.
Soft breezes whispering love’s song.
While I revisit now seem tragic.
With you not here, the mood’s all wrong.

Old Syracuse is drab and lonely.
As by myself I wander ‘round.
The haunts we knew are places only.
And not the Syracuse we’d found.
Gone is the Syracuse we’d found.

Lyric 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved