Schwag | my exit left

Those pink thin high clouds again

Someone must be lonely

Rob is singing about 3am

Right on cue fly the geese.

My friends

look at the crowd just buying in

I miss the bouncers and corner stage

Drunken college kid
Daddy’s money good old days

Now its buses and

I took my dog for a walk

in the rain

Forgot about the lights and center


Everyone has to shit sometime

And rover was so happy

(Even In my rage)

To get back so impatient to the story

I might die tomorrow but I’m not afraid

As long as I piss my territory

And my agent gets rightfully paid

And Yea. To get back to the stage

Schwag | How We End Up

Stopped at a light sitting in my Journey
The red of my hood turned to green

cool morning Indiana field

With my star garden and sound bucks
conditioned air feels like luck

And I’m suddenly locked eyes
Desparate Luring
Bloodily cocked eyes

I was once homeless too Mr Deep
But the world called me rockstar
We never find a safe place to sleep
When the house you’re in is so far

Til we all just disappear

The honk of a horn awakes me
The light turning, colors of line 2
In a blink you’re unborn it escapes thee
Foot on gas its all in rearview

Corproot | reboo2

Tiny ants marching toward some Sunny beach

Saturday and Sunday or a leader to impeach

Target: Skyscraper

There’s this dream about people working later

but I haven’t seen it in a long goddam time

Joe retires 25 years on same rhyme

There’s no middle

Jam’on rye

or Bluepoint voicers

go ask your wife

I don’t want to get out of the comfort of my head

They practice synergy and a.k.a2

Or another acronym

While we struggle with the dog food

And write new(s) hymns

Schwag | The Fabricator

graffiti-box-truckWe followed the wine and cheese
Singers in the band

They had a champagne supernova

A cozy passenger van

The beer rode in a box truck with

“The fabricator” etched in the side

We changed the words

Budget rental to fuck rectal

Challenging Iowa’s power lines

Past all the corn and domestic violence

They were almost famous there inside

Families would honk their horns

For Jesus sake. For what’s right

The fabricator broke down in Gary
We got car jacked in the night
They took away what they could carry
A gang of four on motorbikes

And New years eve y2k
We made it from Madison Wisconsin
To Madison ave in a long day
a straight 10 hour shot
Til parked was the beast albeit sideways
Now wheres that confounded dock?

She was parked there on the corner
Like a bed of roses on a grave
Looking alive, waiting for more pride
Waiting for her portions
Turn of the century.   new years night

-I opened the door –

In grade school they don’t teach you how to shave, make sandwiches or balance a check.

They don’t prepare you for opening
Your life savings
And there’s no band gear like your were hoping

Just two mattresses

a crystal ball

4 passed out teens

Breathe the alcohol.

[With all the miles

And the streets in between]


The ‘cator

had to be traded

We parted like mothers and hope
Pain like divorce. We carry on, cope.

Like lovers and bandmates and beards
That’ll always be in your heart
From sounds of fans who once cheered
To the emptiness of a stage in the dark

Leaving behind friends
Well it’s all part of life
Maybe together again
Maybe cancer. Maybe the knife.

With a broken record deal
Too many emotions and miles and meals
The fab was sold for a steal
The lyric sheet: the struggle is real


Schwag |the 3 S’s

While the band usually had the embassy suites
The Rooms full of women they’d meet

And than there’s the roadies and me

Renting rooms by the hour
Shit shave and shower
Cat naps some call them power
Steal the towels and fake flowers

You Stub your toes on hotel walls
When you walk in 10 feet tall

I’ll jump off the roof into the moat
You’ve got your buffalo tom
Mine is a trace
A dicky boss tone
A fish bone on my plate

“what are you doing son, where will you be in five years?”

Hopefully we’re on a bus getting high on your fears

Schwag | nofriendo

A man who owns
a record label. Musically toned
Rescued me from
Sleeping in and eating alone

Dinners with orange chairs
Dance. Dance. Neon flicker stares

My bed a road case full of CDs and shirts
Rocket man selling drugs and merch

The lights are on a Canadian girl
But Mr Young won’t let me sell
-The opener’s hell

Chords and words and
A jewel of rings
And so she sings and so she brings
Foolish things

A row of buses and I’m found in one
Mario brothers roadie games and fun
Nintendo controller there’s a
Knock in the rain. no sun

Her fans were all babies. Screaming in vain. We let them on her bus for pay
Tween beat teenie boppers

Fashionistas in pain

When she came off that stage.
What it looked like and what it was
Weren’t quite the same


I jumped too soon and shrank

Schwag | Chaperone

My only previous trip to Boston from Maine was in 1988 to buy some Doc Martens, there was only two stores you could go to; both in bad neighborhoods

Road trip

Who’s got gas money?

I wanna get, have to get the new Spawn 1st edition or I’m not in

Are you all crazy? My cousin got his ear cut off by skinheads

Blah blah

I ain’t afraid

Class trip to the science center. Skip the bus ride home. Billy’s uncle will get us home and buy alcohol.

Didn’t think this through.

Mom’s all in panics. Cops involved.

Doc martens confiscated

But here I am now living in this shit, waiting vainly on a dime bag in Chinatown

Shaved head. Eying some 128ers wet behind the ears

Needing to cop. Needing their greenness to benefit me

Where is their chaperone?

Green bomber jacket with American flag patch, loose suspenders

Plaid shorts, wallet chain And my purple docs.

Waiting on the white dread locks who’ll never show

And someone hands me a Demo tape, I’ll listen to in the dark

In the mirrors of cars and reflections of shop windows I watch everything happen

And I’m never gonna have to look

Behind my

Never gonna have to

look back