Catalina's Milky Way Dreams(c) Re- Written 2024 - By The Depressed Poet, Doc Dalton
Shooting Stars and fast moving CarsRumble through the roads of my mindTick-e-ty Tock, the old sounds of the clockSay's it's almost a quarter past nine
The moons surely rising, the stars are a glidingAnd Mr. Sandman is ready to roamHurry off to bed and put your pillow under your headHe might just be visiting you tonight at homeDrifting off to sleep is such a wonderful featAdventures you'll enjoy on your ownMaking new friends on a journey to no endA secrete life that is yours all aloneDon't be afraid of those gobble lee goo'sOr those pirates drifting to sea on their boatsThere's no need to worry there just in your dreamsLike rainbow clouds and cotton candy floatsOh that sky's full of colors of make believe wondersExciting every step of the wayCan't you let me stay for just a little bit longerPlease, don't take my Dreams a wayTo see this through a child's eyesOn the path to where stars brightly beamThrough a different world of twist and twirlsWon't you come to my Milky Way DreamsWe could have so much funUnder an ice cream sun and laugh our time awaySing some M & M songs the whole day longUntil we awake to brand new day
Pluto say's hey kiddo don't get out of bedAs Snakel Puss laughs and says, ah it's OKKKKKKKKPopeye yell's, were gone in a minute after I eat me spinachPoo say's all aboard my Banana Split SleighOh that Sky's full of colors of make believe wondersExciting every step of the wayCan't you let me stay for just a little bit longerWorry not Catalina, we won't take your Dreams a way
To see this through a child's eyesOn the path to where stars brightly beamThrough a different world of twist and twirlsWon't you come to my Milky Way Dreams
Catalina say's, please come join me, on my Milky Way Dreams
There are some things a man hopes to find when he gets to Heaven. He hopes to see the people he loved and lost along the way. He hopes to see old friends, his mom and dad, and maybe a few old dogs that once waited for him by the door. He hopes to finally understand all the things down here that never seemed to make much sense.
But me? Well, Lord, I have one more little request. Please let there be a honky tonk in Heaven.
I'm not talking about one of those fancy places with flashing lights, television screens hanging everywhere, and music so loud you can't hear yourself think. I'm talking about an old-fashioned honky tonk. The kind that sat alongside some forgotten highway with a gravel parking lot out front and an old neon sign buzzing over the door.
The kind of place where the wooden floor was worn smooth from a thousand pairs of boots dancing across it. That's the honky tonk I'm talking about. I hope when I walk through those doors, there's a jukebox sitting in the corner. Not one of those new computerized things, either. I want one where you can see the records inside and watch the machine pick one up and place it on the turntable.
And Lord, if you're taking requests, make sure there's plenty of Merle Haggard in there. Put some Conway Twitty beside him. Give me a little Ray Price, Marty Robbins, George Jones, Buck Owens, Lefty Frizzell, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette, Waylon Jennings, and all those other singers who knew how to take three minutes and tell somebody's entire life story.
Back then, country music was country music. You could understand the words. More importantly, you could feel them. They sang about broken hearts because they knew something about having one. They sang about working men, lonely women, old pickup trucks, cheating hearts, drinking, praying, leaving, coming home, and trying to make it through another day.
Sometimes a song could make you cry. Sometimes it could make you laugh. And sometimes, before the first verse was finished, you were grabbing somebody's hand and heading toward the dance floor. Those old honky tonks were something special. You'd walk through the door on a Friday or Saturday night, and for a few hours, whatever problems were waiting outside stayed outside. The working man forgot about his aching back. The woman who spent the week taking care of everybody else finally got to kick up her heels. Somebody who had just gotten his heart broken discovered he wasn't the only one. And somewhere across that old wooden floor, two people who had never met before might look at each other and realize they had just found somebody worth knowing.
There was laughter coming from the tables. There were boots sliding across the floor. There were couples dancing cheek to cheek when the music slowed down. There was always somebody who thought he could sing better than the fellow on the jukebox. And there was usually one old cowboy sitting quietly at the end of the bar who looked like he had enough stories to fill ten books.
Nobody was staring at a telephone. Nobody was worried about taking a picture of themselves having a good time. They were too busy actually having one. Maybe that's what I miss the most. We didn't know we were making memories. We thought we were just having another Saturday night. We didn't realize those nights would someday become stories we would tell when our hair turned gray and getting out of a chair became a little harder than it used to be. We didn't know the people sitting around those tables wouldn't always be there. We thought there would always be another dance. Another song. Another Saturday night. Another chance to say, I'll see you next weekend.
But life has a funny way of changing things. The old honky tonks started disappearing. The music changed. The old singers left us one by one. The neon signs went dark. The jukeboxes disappeared. And those young men and women who once danced across those floors somehow became old men and women wondering where all those years went.
Maybe that's why memories become so valuable. They're the one thing time can't completely take away. Every once in a while, I'll hear one of those old songs. Maybe it's Merle. Maybe Conway. Maybe Ray Price singing something that reaches into a place inside me I had almost forgotten was there. And suddenly, I'm back. The neon sign is glowing again. The jukebox is playing. The dance floor is crowded. My boots don't hurt. My back doesn't ache. I'm young again. And everybody I remember is still there.
That's the wonderful thing about an old country song. For three minutes, it can give you your life back. So, Lord, when my journey down here is finished, I hope you'll forgive me for asking for one little favor. After I've seen the people I've missed... After I've hugged those I've been waiting so long to hug... After I've stood amazed at everything Heaven has to offer... Maybe somebody could point me toward a little road somewhere just beyond those pearly gates.
And maybe at the end of that road, I'll see an old neon sign glowing in the distance. Maybe I'll hear a steel guitar coming through the doorway. Maybe Merle will be singing. Maybe Conway will be waiting for the next song. Maybe Marty Robbins will have another cowboy story to tell. And maybe all those people we once danced with will be young again, waiting for us to come through the door. There won't be any last calls. Nobody will have to say goodbye. Nobody will have to worry about tomorrow morning. And nobody will ever play the final song.
I'll find myself a chair, order whatever they're serving up there, and sit quietly for a while, watching everybody dance. Then that one special song will start playing. I'll smile. I'll get up. And I'll walk across that old wooden floor one more time. Because some things shouldn't disappear just because our time on Earth is over. Some music deserves to play forever. Some dances deserve one more dance. Some friends deserve one more Saturday night together. And some memories are just too damn good to leave behind.
So when my time comes, I don't need a mansion. I don't need streets of gold. Just give me the people I love, an old wooden dance floor, a jukebox filled with real country music, and enough time to hear every song one more time. And if Heaven really is everything we've dreamed it would be... then somewhere beyond those pearly gates, I have a feeling there's an old neon sign already glowing. And written across it are the words: WELCOME, FRIEND. WE'VE BEEN SAVING YOU A SEAT.
Oh Lord... Please let there be a honky tonk in Heaven.
But me? Well, Lord, I have one more little request. Please let there be a honky tonk in Heaven.
I'm not talking about one of those fancy places with flashing lights, television screens hanging everywhere, and music so loud you can't hear yourself think. I'm talking about an old-fashioned honky tonk. The kind that sat alongside some forgotten highway with a gravel parking lot out front and an old neon sign buzzing over the door.
The kind of place where the wooden floor was worn smooth from a thousand pairs of boots dancing across it. That's the honky tonk I'm talking about. I hope when I walk through those doors, there's a jukebox sitting in the corner. Not one of those new computerized things, either. I want one where you can see the records inside and watch the machine pick one up and place it on the turntable.
And Lord, if you're taking requests, make sure there's plenty of Merle Haggard in there. Put some Conway Twitty beside him. Give me a little Ray Price, Marty Robbins, George Jones, Buck Owens, Lefty Frizzell, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette, Waylon Jennings, and all those other singers who knew how to take three minutes and tell somebody's entire life story.
Back then, country music was country music. You could understand the words. More importantly, you could feel them. They sang about broken hearts because they knew something about having one. They sang about working men, lonely women, old pickup trucks, cheating hearts, drinking, praying, leaving, coming home, and trying to make it through another day.
Sometimes a song could make you cry. Sometimes it could make you laugh. And sometimes, before the first verse was finished, you were grabbing somebody's hand and heading toward the dance floor. Those old honky tonks were something special. You'd walk through the door on a Friday or Saturday night, and for a few hours, whatever problems were waiting outside stayed outside. The working man forgot about his aching back. The woman who spent the week taking care of everybody else finally got to kick up her heels. Somebody who had just gotten his heart broken discovered he wasn't the only one. And somewhere across that old wooden floor, two people who had never met before might look at each other and realize they had just found somebody worth knowing.
There was laughter coming from the tables. There were boots sliding across the floor. There were couples dancing cheek to cheek when the music slowed down. There was always somebody who thought he could sing better than the fellow on the jukebox. And there was usually one old cowboy sitting quietly at the end of the bar who looked like he had enough stories to fill ten books.
Nobody was staring at a telephone. Nobody was worried about taking a picture of themselves having a good time. They were too busy actually having one. Maybe that's what I miss the most. We didn't know we were making memories. We thought we were just having another Saturday night. We didn't realize those nights would someday become stories we would tell when our hair turned gray and getting out of a chair became a little harder than it used to be. We didn't know the people sitting around those tables wouldn't always be there. We thought there would always be another dance. Another song. Another Saturday night. Another chance to say, I'll see you next weekend.
But life has a funny way of changing things. The old honky tonks started disappearing. The music changed. The old singers left us one by one. The neon signs went dark. The jukeboxes disappeared. And those young men and women who once danced across those floors somehow became old men and women wondering where all those years went.
Maybe that's why memories become so valuable. They're the one thing time can't completely take away. Every once in a while, I'll hear one of those old songs. Maybe it's Merle. Maybe Conway. Maybe Ray Price singing something that reaches into a place inside me I had almost forgotten was there. And suddenly, I'm back. The neon sign is glowing again. The jukebox is playing. The dance floor is crowded. My boots don't hurt. My back doesn't ache. I'm young again. And everybody I remember is still there.
That's the wonderful thing about an old country song. For three minutes, it can give you your life back. So, Lord, when my journey down here is finished, I hope you'll forgive me for asking for one little favor. After I've seen the people I've missed... After I've hugged those I've been waiting so long to hug... After I've stood amazed at everything Heaven has to offer... Maybe somebody could point me toward a little road somewhere just beyond those pearly gates.
And maybe at the end of that road, I'll see an old neon sign glowing in the distance. Maybe I'll hear a steel guitar coming through the doorway. Maybe Merle will be singing. Maybe Conway will be waiting for the next song. Maybe Marty Robbins will have another cowboy story to tell. And maybe all those people we once danced with will be young again, waiting for us to come through the door. There won't be any last calls. Nobody will have to say goodbye. Nobody will have to worry about tomorrow morning. And nobody will ever play the final song.
I'll find myself a chair, order whatever they're serving up there, and sit quietly for a while, watching everybody dance. Then that one special song will start playing. I'll smile. I'll get up. And I'll walk across that old wooden floor one more time. Because some things shouldn't disappear just because our time on Earth is over. Some music deserves to play forever. Some dances deserve one more dance. Some friends deserve one more Saturday night together. And some memories are just too damn good to leave behind.
So when my time comes, I don't need a mansion. I don't need streets of gold. Just give me the people I love, an old wooden dance floor, a jukebox filled with real country music, and enough time to hear every song one more time. And if Heaven really is everything we've dreamed it would be... then somewhere beyond those pearly gates, I have a feeling there's an old neon sign already glowing. And written across it are the words: WELCOME, FRIEND. WE'VE BEEN SAVING YOU A SEAT.
Oh Lord... Please let there be a honky tonk in Heaven.
