Donny Osmond - Latter-day Saint Musicians

About the Song

Donny Osmond, a name synonymous with the golden age of pop music, has graced us with countless hits over his illustrious career. Among his most enduring classics is the heart-wrenching ballad, “The Twelfth of Never”. Released in 1973, this song has captivated audiences for generations, proving that true love stories are timeless.

“The Twelfth of Never” is a poignant exploration of unrequited love and the enduring hope that one day, a lost love might return. The lyrics, penned by Jerry Livingston and Paul Francis Webster, paint a vivid picture of a heartbroken individual who clings to the memory of a past romance. The line, “I’ll love you till the twelfth of never,” is a powerful statement of eternal devotion, suggesting that the singer’s love is so deep that it will last forever.

Donny Osmond’s smooth, velvety vocals perfectly capture the emotional depth of the song. His delivery is both heartfelt and restrained, allowing the lyrics to resonate with listeners on a deeply personal level. The music, with its lush orchestral arrangements, complements the somber tone of the lyrics, creating a truly immersive listening experience.

One of the reasons why “The Twelfth of Never” has remained so popular is its universal theme. The pain of lost love is a feeling that everyone can relate to at some point in their lives. The song’s timeless message of hope and perseverance has resonated with audiences of all ages and backgrounds. Moreover, the song’s elegant simplicity has allowed it to transcend musical trends and remain relevant for decades.

“The Twelfth of Never” is more than just a song; it’s a testament to the enduring power of music to connect people on a deep emotional level. Donny Osmond’s interpretation of this classic ballad has solidified his place in music history and continues to inspire new generations of listeners.Donny Osmond Posters and Photos 237675 | Movie Store

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Lyrics: The Twelfth Of Never

You ask how much I need you, must I explain?
I need you, oh my darling, like roses need rain.
You ask how long I’ll love you; I’ll tell you true:
Until the twelfth of never, I’ll still be loving you.

Hold me close, never let me go.
Hold me close, melt my heart like April snow.

I’ll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom;
I’ll love you till the clover has lost its perfume.
I’ll love you till the poets run out of rhyme,
Until the twelfth of never and that’s a long, long time.

Hold me close, never let me go.
Hold me close, melt my heart like April snow.

I’ll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom;
I’ll love you till the clover has lost its perfume.
I’ll love you till the poets run out of rhyme,
Until the twelfth of never and that’s a long, long time.

Until the twelfth of never and that’s a long, long time.

 

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“I AM NOT ASKING FOR A HERO, JUST SOMEONE TO REMAIN UNTIL THE LIGHTS GO DOWN,” KENNY ROGERS MUTTERED TO THE ENGINEER BEFORE LAYING DOWN THE VOCAL TRACK. He had sung thousands of lines about high-stakes risks and lonesome train rides, but this specific take demanded a vulnerability that made the studio air feel thin. It was the sound of a man who had sold his soul to the industry finally stopping to ask the room if anyone could hear him. Kenny Rogers spent forty years as a professional fixture, a man who projected the image of the invincible gambler and the steady hand in a chaotic world. His voice was a reliable comfort to millions, a deep, warm anchor for listeners who viewed him as someone who always possessed the right answer or the perfect piece of stoic advice. But when the house lights dimmed and the applause faded, that projection often left a heavy, suffocating silence in the dressing room that no amount of platinum records could fill. In 1997, while recording for the album Across My Heart, Rogers stepped away from the usual bravado and the polished, radio-ready persona that defined his later years. He entered the booth to record “See Me Through,” a track that bypassed the typical commercial polish to reveal a man tired of being the permanent pillar of strength. It was not a desperate reach for sympathy, but a quiet, honest confession that the person everyone relies upon is often the one struggling the most to find a reason to remain standing. The song remains a masterclass in professional restraint. There is no soaring crescendo, only the weary, grounded weight of a man asking for someone to simply sit with him through the static. He stopped trying to be the hero for three minutes and instead acknowledged the fragile reality that persists after the spotlight finally goes cold.

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