Walking through these streets alone
Everyone's got somewhere to go
But I see you there, you're just like me
Searching for where we're meant to be
The same tired eyes, the same quiet hope
We're all just learning how to cope
In this place we call community
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
In this place we call community
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
Late at night when the world gets still
I wonder if you're awake too
Staring at your ceiling, counting fears
Wishing someone would see right through
All the walls we build to stay safe
But maybe safety's overrated
In this place we call community
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
In this place we call community
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
Sometimes strangers become the ones
Who hold you when you fall apart
Sometimes the people you never knew
End up closest to your heart
We're all broken, we're all whole
We're all learning, we're all growing old
In this place we call community
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
In this place we call community
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
We find ourselves, we find ourselves
We're all strangers here tonight
But maybe that's alright


🌹Thanks to the players from H.C. and Del's studio

All Rights held by songwriter Edwin H. Balder. 

Be sure to visit Tina's playlist here: 
https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/tina-talone-may-this-kind-of?si=c962a19838244cafab03c08ba110c75f&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

And Tina's new music video here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TZvNm4nfdQ

Community by🌹Tina Talone🌹

In the shadows of Apache Junction, at the foot of the majestic Superstition Mountains, sits a weathered hacienda. This desert oasis is home to an enigmatic figure, a songwriter whose journey reads like a long, dusty road of honky-tonk bars and college cafeterias. He wasn't chasing fame or glitter; instead, he chose the soul-crushing beauty of music for music's sake.

Years spent hunched over sticky barroom tables and scribbling lyrics on napkins earned him a reputation—not in the spotlight but in the back rooms where deals are made. He wrote melodies that found their way into the hearts of stars who had lost their own muse. He sold his creations for cash, with no recognition, but the whisper of his songs carried the weight of his soul.

Finally, he bought this piece of desert paradise—a stable income from his timeless songs allowed him to live comfortably, if anonymously. Here in this hacienda, with his family beside him and the mountains as his backdrop, he found the peace to write hits under his own name. He chuckled at the irony that now, without chasing fame, he could create music that brought him joy.

In the end, it was never about the spotlight. It was about the journey, the stories, and the songs that wrote themselves through his life. As the sun set behind the Superstitions, casting long shadows over the hacienda, he strummed his guitar and sang—content, unknown, and unburdened by the world's gaze.


Copyright 2019 Edwin H. Balder

I may be dead when fame comes but my real glory was always JULIE & The Kids. Thank you for such love

Community by🌹Tina Talone🌹

Edwin Balder