American Disrepair

by Eric Peter Schwartz

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credits

released January 2, 2017

written, performed and produced by EPS
Guitar on "Better Bread": Daniel Schwartz
Vocals on "Stop. Breathe. Repeat." J.J Williams
Recorded between March and December 2016 at Unclean Studios in Aurora, IL
2016 Eric Peter Schwartz and Crapping Badger Records

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all rights reserved

about

Eric Peter Schwartz Aurora, Illinois

I make guitary and facehole sounds that some people think are nice. I do this around the greater Chicago area most of the time.

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Track Name: House of Frankenstein
Don't wanna give in to the cynics
don't wanna give in to the critics
don't wanna go gently into that night

Don't wanna lose my Raisin Bran
don't wanna lose my Superman
don't wanna lose my choice of dark or light

I like this room of mine
in the House of Frankenstein

Don't wannna get caught with my pants down
don't wanna get kissed then kicked around
don't wanna count the minutes until my break

We can't pretend we control the rules
Can't ignore lunatics and fools
Can't deny the monsters that we make

Just tell me which seat is mine
in The House of Frankenstein

Keep walking, I'm right behind
in the House of Frankenstein

Throw the switch
Does it live?
Does it sin?
Does it forgive?

Don't wanna give up a good time
don't wanna give up my place in line
don't wanna see the black behind the blue

Don't wanna give in to the cynics
don't wanna give in to the critics
don't wanna lose myself in you

Tell me we'reg onna be fine
in the House of Frankenstein
I'll just chill here in this room of mine
in the House of Frankenstein
Track Name: Stop. Breathe. Repeat.
We're flush with:

Check loans
and ringtones
and ice cream cones
and value menus
and music venues
and checkout lines
and no smoking signs
and city enforced lawn fines

Jager bombs
and soccer moms
and men in traffic seeking alms

home owners associations
and home invasions
tax evasions
and playstations

Xbox
and pop rocks
and Botox
and construction-displaced red fox
paved over wetlands
and cover bands
and mini vans


big macs
and panic attacks
and achievement plaques
and car jacks
and commentary tracks
crack
smack
and 2 squad cars for every pulled over black

STOP. BREATHE. REPEAT
STOP. BREATHE. REPEAT

Blue-Tooth
and Baby Ruth
billions on "reality" not a dime on the truth

vets
pets
and rooms to let
DVRs to set
and OTBs taking bets

Hooters
and looters
and first person shooters
drug stings
buffalo wings
and automated baby swings


blood clots
and toys for tots
Body shots
and wood rot
30-second spots
open preschool academy slots
and bumper-sticker-deep political thought

STOP. BREATHE. REPEAT
STOP. BREATHE. REPEAT

book clubs
and hot tubs
and pay stubs
and Caribbean jerk chicken rubs
YouTube
and JiffyLube
augemented boobs
and flamed noobs

Cubicles
Musicals
and chewed-down cuticles

FEMA
edema
and short term financial schema
white sales
and white males
and predatory eyes on the bike trails

Khaki shorts
park district sports
USB ports
chair and blanket forts
jam packed circuit courts

NASCAR
and Pinot Noir
C-section scars
and smoke free strip bars

psychological baggage
and stuffed cabbage
a cultural bandage
and a stimulus package

Plumbers
Hummers
and world wide bummers
a challenge to all-comers

STOP. BREATHE. REPEAT

podcasts
and spinning class
and shade grass
peak bone mass
and "Nice turn signal, Jackass!"

Sunday drivers
and olympic divers
social ladder climbers
two coats of primer
and make-up covered shiners
Shriners
Whiners
and egg timers

Downloads
pincodes
frontage roads
and the subtle way every trend explodes

Terry stops
and album drops
and Dow drops
cream wrap tops
and mall-cops
Soul mates
and divorce rates
speed dates
and wine crates
genetic traits
and jail bait
bit rate
Hate
Fate
and checks from the State
and the wait
and the wait
and the wait
please wait

why yes...

we're flush with
the suburban bourbon of a billion choices
drunk and bedazzled by the pointless noises
and no matter how we all felt
we chipped away at the green belt
we've sold ourselves as traffic slaves
but we're blessed
because
Jesus Paves
Track Name: Screen
There's a big blue sky for the world today
a warm, yellow sun calling me out to play
I probably won't but I should step away
from this screen

There's a patch of flowers beside the road
Should be enough to let the fragance fill my nose
but I've got bars so the world can know
how they look on my screen

This special thing for you and me
how jealous the world would be
if only
they could see

A flippy floppy fish swimming in a pool
a mountain and a valley that looked really cool
even my kids going off to school
I saw through my screen

This special thing for you and me
how jealous the world would be
if only
they could see

Now, I'm not a luddite, don't get me wrong
Going online is probably
Track Name: Whip Around The Sun
Gonna get me a Geisha
Get Ferragamo shoes
Gonna get a Masarati
but I'll keep on playing the blues

Gonna get me twelve accountants
Gonna get some antique glass
gonna get a house in Beverly Hills
but keep on loving jazz

Gonna stock my fridge with fish eggs
and the Perignon will flow
I'll jam every winter in the Florida Keys
but only play Rock and Roll

Come on Delilah!
Show me your knife
Come on Delilah
I'll show you my hair
We'll whip around the sun
and grab a couple of shakes
and have no cause to be there

I'll get a dietician
and a chef to cook all my meals
I'll dress down when I'm on the town
and expound about Bakersfield

I'll remember where I came from
and be humble during the show
Got no desire to see the UAE
but it's where people like me should go

Come on Delilah!
Show me your knife
Come on Delilah
I'll show you my hair
We'll whip around the sun
and grab a couple of shakes
and have no cause to be there

I beg your pardon
I'm chatting with snakes in my garden
being understood is so nice
it's like they really know me
they know my soul doesn't have a price

Gonna get a global conscience
gonna get an addiction to fight
Gonna hang with all my heroes
and play folk songs every night

Money won't ever change me
I'll spot when it all goes wrong
I'll use 48K Helix speakers
to hear Woody Guthrie songs
Track Name: Hightailin' Roadside Blues
You got me slow-walkin' backward
from that look on your face
You got me slow-walkin' backward
from that look on your face
Devil come through that door
he'd run from this place

You got me hightailin' gone
my tail between my legs
You got me hightailin' gone
my tail between my legs
should probably stop and drop
clasp my hands and beg

Darlin', darlin'
can you forgive a dog
Darlin', darlin'
can you forgive a dog
I'm low down and no good
but the night's gonna get long

Driver, driver
can I bum a ride
Driver, driver
can I bum a ride
a woman smarter than me
kicked me to the roadside
Track Name: The Nigel Farage Song
Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nigel Farage
Julian Assange

Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nigel Farage
Julian Assange

Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
in the garage
Olympic dressage
Nicki Minaj
Nigel Farage
Nigel Farage
Julian Assange
Track Name: Better Bread
When we all looked up from our phones
there were longer shadows in our homes
and the ones that lived by high ideals
couldn't reach the ones tucking in to lesser meals

And on the rough edges of town
a smug, cackling jackal laid down
Contented, taking rest
it bit a hole in the center of Hope's chest

The shiny black spiders out
from the wound the jackal made with its mouth
and The Decent In-Between
are absorbed in the cogs of the Black Machine

Then shapeless rage filters the light
and division fires draw the angry eye
and the claws inside reasonable hands
rend the truth until we no longer understand

And the Decent In-Between tonight
feel enemies on their left and right
and they try to quiet their head
remembering better days, breaking better bread

Closed eyes, tasting better bread
Hopeful minds, wanting better bread
Acid fear, absorbed by better bread
The Idealists, fighting for better bread
The Hopeless, dreaming of better bread
The Jackal, gorged on better bread

Break better bread
Track Name: Play My Guitar
I just want to play my guitar
while the world burns
and everybody screams
I wish I could just watch them like fireflies in a jar
burning out, talking about
their potential and their dreams

The air is thin this high up the food chain
we can't see how close to the ground we are
as a species we've never mastered the soft landing
so I just want to play my guitar

Way up in the arctic
they made an ice cave and filled it up with seeds
so when we're done fucking around and have to start again
maybe we'll have what we need

Carl said it best, "this is where we make our stand"
this little wet world circling a yellow star
but we never learn how fragile, we never see how swift
so I'm just going to play my guitar