Break These Walls

One I did at a pub last month, I improvised the last verse but it worked so hope you enjoy it, short song but fun.

Ordinairy Woman

Do You Miss Us?.mp3

Shadows

I Don’t Hate You.mp3

SEVENTEEN [17]

A raw, whisper-soft anthem for anyone who ever felt too much, too soon.
Written from inside the quiet violence of growing up.

Inspired by the emotional pulse of the fictional TV series Seventeen, this track captures the weight of being young in a world that doesn’t listen – until you sing.

💔 For the ones who survived the night with no one watching.

[Verse 1]
I'm only seventeen,
but I’ve lived too many nights.
They touch me like I’m nothing,
like I don’t even breathe.

[Verse 2]
I took a punch in the belly,
but I didn’t cry – no, I didn’t cry.
I stared into my mirror,
but I couldn’t even try.

[Verse 3]
They told me: “Speak with caution.”
So I sing inside my chest.
Every word's a revolution,
even whispered, even guessed.

Seventeen [17]

On the road too long...
It's About Time by songwriter Edwin H. Balder
I learned your silence like the back of my hand,
Every pause, every "I’ll text you" left hanging like a loose strand.
Now the diner’s fluorescent buzz don’t hum your name,
Just the clink of my spoon stirring sugar without shame.
It’s about time… I had a good time.
No more tracing your shadow in the 2 a.m. blind.
You’re a stain on the passenger seat I finally scrubbed clean,
Turns out the wheel feels lighter when you’re not the gasoline.
Your friends still ask about me like I’m some ghost they can’t shake,
I smile, say "I’m good"—let the lie start to ache.
But the ache’s just a reminder I’m alive, not a shrine,
And the highway’s singing louder than your "just give it time."
It’s about time… I had a good time.
No more tracing your shadow in the 2 a.m. blind.
You’re a stain on the passenger seat I finally scrubbed clean,
Turns out the wheel feels lighter when you’re not the gasoline.
I found a dive bar where the whiskey’s cheap and the jokes are mean,
Where nobody knows your name or the wreck you made of me.
The jukebox spits out a song I used to hate,
But tonight? I’m screaming the words like it’s fate.
It’s about time… I stopped counting the miles.
The rearview’s just a suggestion, not a life sentence file.
Funny how the heart heals in the messiest ways—
One day you’re choking, next day you’re blowing out the flame.

It’s about time… I had a good time.
The night’s soft as a ”whatever”, and the future’s bright as a dime.
No more ”maybe next year”, no more ”right girl, wrong life”—
Just me, the open road, and the damn sweet lack of strife.

Link to best of our country hits that you can cover to get to the top... https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/country-hits-you-might-need?si=307edea8be674dc3bedee9345a814080&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

All Rights Reserved Edwin H. Balder
Thanks so much to my band: Hot Cookie
See Our Music Videos Here> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-509h42heKT05D8egf2U9w

It's About Time by songwriter Edwin H. Balder

This Green Mile

Rising Force

Where I Want To Go

The Palms of His Hands (c) 2015 Russell W Pruitt Artist Foresta Shope

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

It's About Time by songwriter Edwin H. Balder

Edwin Balder

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