Your Chair's Still Here
0:00 / 5:03
70s Soft Rock
An original example from a mom to her son Blake, who is twenty-three and just started a new job in Anchorage, so this is the first Thanksgiving he can't come home. His chair stays at the table anyway. She saved him the wishbone and it is drying on the kitchen windowsill until he gets back. He always peeled the potatoes and complained the whole time, and now nobody peels them right. His dad is in charge of the rolls with nobody watching the oven, and they will call him at pie time like they promised.
Warm 1970s soft rock at a slow sway, voice and piano first, drums entering on the second verse. Clear female rock mezzo vocal, gentle in the verses and full-throated on the chorus. Acoustic and electric guitars with a slide guitar solo, a hushed acoustic bridge and a full final chorus ringing out on one chord.
“An original example of a warm 70s soft rock Thanksgiving song from a mom to her son Blake, who can't make it home from his new job in Anchorage.”
Sound
Lyrics
Twenty-three and gone up north Anchorage got a brand new hand First November you can't come home I'm trying hard to understand So I set the table anyway Pulled out every plate we own
The house is loud, the oven's warm The miles can't make you disappear Blake, I'm leaving room for you Your chair's still here
I saved you the wishbone, kid It's drying on the windowsill Nobody gets to make a wish Until you're home, and you will Next year you'll walk in the door And grab the bigger half for real
The house is loud, the oven's warm The miles can't make you disappear Blake, I'm leaving room for you Your chair's still here
You peeled potatoes every year And grumbled through the whole big pile Now nobody does them right I miss the moaning for a while Your dad's in charge of rolls tonight Nobody's watching, so they'll burn
The house is loud, the oven's warm The miles can't make you disappear Blake, I'm leaving room for you Your chair's still here
We'll call you up at pie time Just like we promised, son So have yourself a slice up there Mama loves you, Blake, go on
The rolls are black, the peels are thick Home's not going anywhere Blake, I'm leaving room for you Your chair's still here
Your chair's still here (still here)
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