“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”

Introduction

Despite creating hundreds of songs throughout her illustrious career spanning decades, Dolly Parton—the undisputed queen of country music—revealed that her favorite tune isn’t even one she wrote herself.

When asked about the song closest to her heart, Dolly surprised fans by looking beyond her own impressive catalog. Instead, she confessed to TODAY, “I always loved the song ‘Sometimes When We Touch’.” This beautiful love ballad, crafted by Dan Hill and Barry Mann in 1973, clearly resonated with the country icon on a profound level.

There’s something wonderfully touching about this choice. The song itself has quite a story—written when Dan Hill was just a 19-year-old caught in the emotional turmoil of a love triangle. Its raw, vulnerable lyrics explore the depths of love and emotional honesty that have touched listeners for generations. Who could forget that heart-wrenching chorus: “I wanna hold you till I die, till we both break down and cry”?

Released in 1977, the song became Dan Hill’s greatest commercial success, climbing to No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and capturing hearts worldwide. Its timeless appeal has inspired covers by legendary artists including Rod Stewart, Barry Manilow, and Tina Turner.

Of course, Dolly hasn’t forgotten her own musical children. According to the Express, when it comes to her own creations, “Coat of Many Colors” holds a special place in her heart. Written in 1969 and released in 1971, this deeply personal song tells the story of her mother lovingly sewing her a coat from colorful fabric scraps when the family couldn’t afford new clothes. Though Dolly cherished this handmade treasure, it unfortunately made her a target for bullying from other children.

The song’s significance extends far beyond Dolly’s personal connection—in 2011, it was honored with inclusion in the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry for its cultural and historical importance. Throughout her career, Dolly has often shared how this particular song embodies the values and life lessons she gained growing up in the humble surroundings of rural Tennessee.

Isn’t it fascinating how even legendary songwriters like Dolly can find themselves moved by the work of others, just like the rest of us?

Video

Lyrics

You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I’d rather hurt you, honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I’m only just beginning
To see the real you
And sometimes when we touch
The honesty’s too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you ’til I die
‘Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you
‘Til the fear in me subsides
Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives
I’m just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth
Sometimes when we touch
The honesty’s too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you ’til I die
‘Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you
‘Til the fear in me subsides
At times I’d like to break you
And drive you to your knees
At times I’d like to break through
And hold you endlessly
At times I understand you
And I know how hard you’ve tried
I’ve watched while love commands you
And I’ve watched love pass you by
At times I think we’re drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister
But then the passion flares again
And sometimes when we touch
The honesty’s too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you ’til I die
‘Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you
‘Til the fear in me subsides

Related Post

You Missed

EVERYONE IN NASHVILLE HAD AN OPINION ABOUT DOOLITTLE LYNN. LORETTA LIVED WITH THE PART THEY COULD NEVER SEE. They called him a drunk. They called him worse. They watched Doolittle Lynn stand in the back of the room at Loretta’s shows and thought they understood the marriage from across the floor. But Loretta’s life was never that simple. Doo bought her first guitar, pushed her to sing when she did not yet believe she belonged on a stage, and drove her from honky-tonks to radio stations in a car that sometimes carried more hunger than gasoline. He believed in her voice before she fully knew what it could become. He also broke her heart more times than country music could count. Loretta turned those wounds into songs — “Fist City,” “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’,” “You Ain’t Woman Enough” — not as fiction, but as survival with a melody. When she said, “He never hit me one time that I didn’t hit him back twice,” it was not a clean love story. It was a window into a marriage built from poverty, pride, violence, loyalty, children, ambition, and a kind of stubbornness modern listeners may never fully understand. Forty-eight years. Six children. A woman who became a legend partly because one man pushed her forward — and partly because that same man gave her so much pain to sing through. That does not make the hurt romantic. It makes the story harder. Maybe the real question is not whether Doo Lynn was good or bad. Maybe it is how many women from Loretta’s generation had to turn heartbreak into strength because nobody had taught them another way to survive.

HE LOST JUNE IN MAY. HE DIED IN SEPTEMBER. AND THEN THE WORLD FINALLY UNDERSTOOD WHAT JOHNNY CASH HAD BEEN TRYING TO SAY ALL ALONG. Johnny Cash had fought pills, prison, sickness, guilt, and the devil for most of his life. But losing June Carter Cash in May 2003 was the one fight he never seemed built to survive. She had been his wife, his harmony, his anchor, and the woman who had stood beside him when the Man in Black was still trying to crawl out of his own darkness. Four months later, on September 12, 2003, Johnny followed her. He was 71. Friends said life became a struggle after June was gone; Kris Kristofferson told People that Cash cried every night. At his final public performance that July, Johnny still sang, still worked, still tried to keep going — but everyone could hear the emptiness June had left behind. Then the world did something strange. It made him larger after death than he had been in his final years. “Hurt” reached a generation raised on MTV, not Sun Records. Justin Timberlake even used his own VMA speech to say Johnny deserved the award more than anyone in the room. Two years later, Walk the Line brought Cash and June’s story to movie theaters around the world, grossing nearly $187 million and winning Reese Witherspoon an Oscar. But maybe none of that would have impressed Johnny as much as people think. Because the man who sang “I Walk the Line” for June spent his whole life trying to keep that promise. He just could not keep walking very long without her.

HE WROTE “OKIE FROM MUSKOGEE” IN MINUTES ON A TOUR BUS. AMERICA SPENT FIFTY YEARS FIGHTING OVER WHAT IT MEANT — AND FORGOT TO LISTEN TO THE MAN WHO WROTE IT. Merle Haggard grew up in a converted boxcar in Bakersfield, California. His father died when Merle was still a boy. By his twenties, he had already seen juvenile halls, train tracks, hard poverty, and San Quentin from the inside. That kind of life does not usually leave much room for people to flatten you into a slogan. But one song nearly did. “Okie from Muskogee” began on a tour bus, sparked by a joke and shaped into a portrait of the people Merle knew: his father’s generation, Dust Bowl families, working people who did not march, did not make the news, and did not have polished language for why the world suddenly seemed to be changing without them. Then America grabbed it. Conservatives turned it into an anthem. Liberals turned it into an accusation. Both sides found what they needed and left Merle standing somewhere in the middle, trying for decades to explain that the truth was more complicated than either side wanted. Meanwhile, he kept writing. “Mama Tried.” “The Fugitive.” “If We Make It Through December.” Thirty-eight number one hits — more than any country artist of his era. Songs about poverty, prison, loneliness, and survival that said more about working class America than any politician ever did. Johnny Cash called him the best. Bob Dylan said he was one of the greatest living songwriters. He died in 2016 on his birthday. Still recording. Still too complicated to fit inside one argument. Maybe it’s time the rest of us stopped letting one song decide who Merle Haggard was. He wrote thirty-seven others that told the rest of the truth.