Introduction:

Here You Come Again is a pop song written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. It was originally intended for Brenda Lee, but when Lee declined to record it, the song was offered to Dolly Parton. Parton’s version became a major hit in 1977, reaching number three on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and number one on the Billboard Hot Country Singles chart. The song has since been covered by numerous artists, including Anne Murray, Kenny Rogers, and Reba McEntire.   

Here You Come Again is a classic pop song that has resonated with listeners for decades. The song’s lyrics are relatable, and its melody is catchy and memorable. Parton’s vocal performance is also excellent, and she delivers the song with emotion and conviction. Here You Come Again is a timeless song that continues to be enjoyed by fans of all ages.

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THE LAST TIME THE CROWD ROSE FOR MERLE HAGGARD — HE WOULD NEVER WALK ONSTAGE AGAIN. They carried him through the doors wrapped in the very flag he once sang about — and in the stillness that followed, there was something almost audible… a fragile echo only lifelong listeners could feel in their bones. Merle Haggard’s story closed the same way it opened: unpolished, honest, and deeply human. From being born in a converted boxcar during the Great Depression to commanding the grandest stages across America, his life unfolded like a country ballad etched in grit, regret, resilience, and redemption. Every lyric he sang carried the weight of lived experience — prison walls, hard roads, blue-collar truths, and hard-earned second chances. Those who stood beside his casket said the atmosphere felt thick, as if the room itself refused to forget the sound of his voice. It wasn’t just grief in the air — it was reverence. A stillness reserved for someone whose music had become stitched into the fabric of ordinary lives. One of his sons leaned close and murmured, “He didn’t really leave us. He’s just playing somewhere higher.” And perhaps that’s the only explanation that makes sense. Because artists like Merle don’t simply vanish. They transform. They become the crackle of an AM radio drifting through a late-night highway. They become the soundtrack of worn leather seats and long stretches of open road. They live in jukebox corners, in dance halls, in quiet kitchens where memories linger longer than the coffee. Somewhere tonight, a trucker tunes in to an old melody. Somewhere, an aging cowboy lowers his hat and blinks back tears. And somewhere in that gentle hum of steel guitar and sorrow, a whisper carries through: “Merle’s home.”