What I Didn't Say

by Robin Monterosso

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Original Americana; country twang, bluesey crush, poetic flair

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  1. 1
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    [Info] What I Didn't Say 03:46
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  2. 2
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    [Info] Rabbit Hole 03:19
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  3. 3
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    [Info] These Bare Hands 04:33
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  4. 4
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    [Info] Broken Daughter 04:26
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  5. 5
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    [Info] Gotta Laugh 04:06
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  6. 6
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    [Info] Hope Stands 00:23
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  7. 7
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    [Info] In This Town 04:07
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  8. 8
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    [Info] Captured 04:51
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  9. 9
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    [Info] Afraid To Be A Woman 04:08
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  10. 10
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    [Info] Without Tears 03:24
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  11. 11
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    [Info] That's A Man 03:15
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  12. 12
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    [Info] Move On 03:41
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  13. 13 [Info] Stars Weep 04:04
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These Bare Hands (Monterosso,Wheeler)
is a tribute to some of the hardest working people on this earth.
Mothers, you say?
Single mothers, to be exact.
I was standing in my living room, (where a great deal of thinking can be heard when it is quiet,) and was looking westward out the window.
The sunlight was streaming in, a warmish April day.
Whatever I was compemplating was interrupted by, I think, looking at my unmanicured hands.
Calloused fingertips, short and rough nails.
I thought, "what if they were completely bare?" No ring. No nothing.
What would still be there?
A couple of weeks later, a writer I admire asked me to co-write.
Tim Wheeler made me laugh. (I hope not TOO much.)
Still, we were able to really hone in on the idea;
what do single parents need most?
Hope.
+++
June and Molly went downtown to get their nails done
I said I've got other things to do
Three kids night school and waitressing at Denny's
Would anybody argue that's not true
Guess I'm doing all I can
With these bare hands

I'm dukin' it out with life the hard way now
The gloves are off I'm clawing my way out
I block I throw I get my share of licks in
Bring it If you have any doubt
I can fight like crazy man
With these bare hands

    These two hands are rough and ready
    Prayin' hangin' on strong and steady
    They hold hands and hope a'plenty
    Bare but never empty
    Full of love to share and lessons from this life I live
    All I've got to give is in
    These bare hands

Mr. Right up and left with some Starbucks starlet
and I didn't waste my time falling apart
I've had to sell some things around this place to make ends meet
That wedding ring well that's a start
Won't have a diamond but I've got a plan
And these bare hands

They take opportunity and grab onto
Whatever brings this family love
The gift is knowing what to keep
And what to let go of

   These two hands are rough and ready
   Prayin' hangin' on strong and steady
   They hold hands and hope a'plenty
   Bare but never empty
   Full of love to share and lessons from this life I live
   And all I've got to give is in
   These bare hands
   These bare hands

One day I'm gonna go downtown and get my nails done


 

Captured

Years ago, I heard the phrase, "...cut open the nightingale to hear it's song". The word picture created in my head struck me deeply; it's a thoughtful metaphor. Did I mention my passion for metaphor?
It's a cautionary tale of the power of beauty, lust... or... something...
it makes me think of so many possible choices in life...
you decide which ones.

I've captured a little bird that I had heard
he sang the evening down without a word
and without a word he now sits in his cage
I hope that we will like his new stage

Oh little bird you cannot flee
I want to hear your melody
Oh little bird I'll never be free
Your song has captured me

All morning birdy went on still and silent
daylight is passing in such tiny increments
in such tiny increments shadows tick by
while waiting for night and the nightingale's cry

now I've grown impatient of being so gracious
and waiting for night to fall seems like all ages
and like all the ages his silence grows old
shadows grow longer and my heart grows cold

Oh little bird you cannot flee
I want to hear your melody
Oh little bird I'll never be free
Your song has captured me

Quite in a rage I reach into that cage
I grapple the neck of my small feathered mage
my small feathered mage and his spell made me mad
I have to find out what the nightingale has

Sharp knife on the table is perfectly able
to extract a spell not a tune just a fable
a fable of folly and lust and of wrong
I cut open the nightingale to find his song

Oh little bird you cannot flee
I want to hear your melody
Oh little bird I'll never be free
Your song has captured me