Swampland Flowers

by Chris Monti

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credits

released December 1, 2002

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Chris Monti Somerville, Massachusetts

Chris Monti is a singer/songwriter whose original songs are influenced by Rock + Roll, Country-Blues and Old-Time Fiddle Music as well as music from West Africa, Egypt, India and South America.
Chris has played with country-blues great Paul Geremia and Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars. Chris has a puppet show called "The Yankee Peddler", and a dance band Big Biscuit. .
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Track Name: Julie Song No. II
Julie Song No. II
-written by Julie Restivo and Chris Monti Words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

How quickly our needs recede and return As we bend our intentions to fit the weather | I’ll match my movement to the strength of the wind | Efficiency decreases as I begin where the ocean ends |

I begin where the ocean ends | As clouds rise slowly from the seams | In the desert two girls wash and wait for the day | They will not know what has come in between |

Land is large here rippled like pants | Rippled like music we dance and we dance
Track Name: Leaving This City
Leaving this City
-words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

I would like to think that I could make this woman my wife | But that won’t be the case in this life | I would like to think that I could always be around | So that I could pick her up when she’s down

(chorus)
I’m going away to leave this city | Leaving all I have behind | Oh and I don’t know | Just exactly where I’ll go | But I know, she’ll be on my mind

She would never let me take hold of her hand | I’d reach for it and she would pull it right away | I was just trying to ease her through her crying | And sometimes there’s not much that you can say | I’m starting to understand what it will take to be a man | Until I am, I will not reach out my hand

(chorus)

“If I were half the man that I thought you were looking for | I’d spend all my time looking for the other half” | When I say this she just smiles, says, “I hate what you just said” | But I had to say it because we might not have much more time

(chorus)
Track Name: The Bee Song
The Bee Song

-words and music © 2002 Chris Monti


A bee in fall | Myriad roses | The bee does not alight

A bee in spring sun | Moves slowly through the branches | Too soon for their buds
Track Name: cats
cats

-words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

(chorus)
The streets are all strangers | And even more strange are they to he who walks with the burden | Of thinking that he knows what he should be

To hold one’s self within the arms | To hold one’s self within the heart | Is to simply give the name | While forgetting that more subtle part | Test the water with only eye and toe | They can touch without asking to know | Drop your arms and drop your clothes | And let the wind touch those places now exposed

(chorus)
The streets are all strangers | And even more strange are they to he who walks with the burden | Of thinking that he knows what he should be

He who has purpose, his purpose he will exhaust | He who does not seek to find, he is never lost | Keep your eyes upon your feet | Then you cannot think to think | Who it is that is to meet

(chorus)
The streets are all strangers | And even more strange are they to he who walks with the burden | Of thinking that he knows what he should be
Track Name: The Local Expatriate
The Local Expatriate
-words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

You know I can't decide if I'm a rich-boy or poor | But I'd like to have my answer ready when they knock upon my door | And they give me the what-for | And they drag me down to the station | And they tell me all about that great nation that they're building under God | They tell me if I join on in I can share in some of that wealth | But how can I make that decision if I'm wondering to myself | Baby am I a rich-boy or am I poor? |

Every day I read the newspaper | Take it for what it's worth | I try to leave behind the question of better off or worse | I take it all as education, learnin about this bountiful nation | That forgets the kids and eats the poor | While Robin Hood, she sleeps on the floor | The line is drawn, the curse is cast | My flag is flying at half-mast | My education costs a dollar a day | But what's it worth if all I have to say is | “It’s all a mess but if you want to write | you're gonna have to find that address for yourself” ?

I ride the bus with paper and pen looking for a metaphor | But each day arriving downtown there's little written when I walk out the door | To dirty streets and peeing in beer bottles | And frozen hands and uncooked meats | There's a story about breakfast and lunch and dinner | But really its not much of a tale | At home there's an artist, a painter, a poet | he loves his work but he's much too frail | Pining away on love lost for a few Who marveled for a while at his head and his hands | But who slowly awayed like the colors do fade | From his paintings of long-ago lands
Track Name: Rat Bat Astard
Rat-Bat Astard –written by Chris Monti and Gabriel Luddy Words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

Gonna tell you a story about some Rat-Bat Astard | Who couldn't get it through the mail | Spent his days pining away, his foot caught in the milking pail | His hair was dirty and his beard was long | And he had a very powerful smell | Just-a-waitin' around, lyin on the ground | For God to ring that dinner bell

But what is God gonna say to you that you ain't heard already? | And what is God gonna give to you that you ain't already got plenty?

Wishing well send you straight to hell | Who you gonna run to? Who you gonna tell? | You ain't been kind, you ain't been discreet | With that look in your eyes and your pants around your feet

Runnin' around that underground | Looking for your soul in the lost and found | Of religion books on the dime-store shelves | But not one of them is gonna delve | Into the heart of the matter | Like why you're running circles mad as a hatter | While your soles are wearing thinner | And your body's getting fatter

Writin letters from your jail cell | From above the taiga where it's cold as hell | The snowy owl comes
billowing by | And the air is crisp ant the sky is high

Lean back your head | This will never be read

Chained to a root in a mobile suit | Is there ever an end to your days? | You suck it all in through an indigo wind and the stars turn on in a blaze | A panel of planes sweeps you into the sky | And out into space you will sail | And hear some story about some Rat-Bat Astard | Who couldn't get it going through the mail
Track Name: Take Your Rest
Take Your Rest

-words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

Why don’t you lay down and get some sleep | I can tell by your smile that you’re in it deep | It’s all right to take it slow | You’ll be just fine, I know

Get some sleep my dear | Get some sleep my dear

You’ll wake up to a brand new day | The coffee and the paper and then you’re on your way | You’ll be all right just take it slow | You’ll be just fine I know

Get some sleep my dear | Get some sleep my dear | Get some sleep my dear | Take your rest right here
Track Name: Thorn In Your Side
Thorn in Your Side
-words and music © 2002 Chris Monti

I ain’t tryin to be a thorn in your side | But it ain’t like I’m some poor boy just lookin for a ride | I ain’t no poor boy and I ain’t lookin for a ride | But I’ve been thinking, together we might be satisfied

Your rollin and tumblin, I ain’t never known | Before I had the chance, had to hit the road Your rollin and tumblin, I ain’t never known | But it’s something mighty fine | That’s what that little bird told

There was that one time when I took your hand | Kissed you on the cheek, try to make you understand | There was that one time when I took your hand | Might mean nothing to you but it sure made me feel grand

I ain’t tryin to be a thorn in your side | But it ain’t like I’m some poor boy just lookin for a ride | I ain’t no poor boy and I ain’t lookin for a ride | But I’ve been thinking, together we might be satisfied