Ceschi - The One Man Band Broke Up


The One Man Band Broke Up
Half Mast
No New York
Lament For Captain Julius
Fallen Famous
Serious Business
Hangman (feat. Shoshin, Mic King & David Ramos)
Bad Jokes
For My Disappointing Hip Hop Heroes
Long Live The Short Lived (feat. Sole)
Swallowed Salt
Julius’ Final Song

The One Man Band Broke Up

the one man band broke up
the one man band broke up
due to creative differences
the one man band broke up
and everybody mourned the passing by passing along

fuck a simple requiem
for the moments in the dusty record bins once lived in by kings -
now graveyards for great stars that will never reign again.
these deserts full of fractured limbs and scattered instruments that can still sing like kids
are rotting into nothingness and the abyss in dim.
I remember when you kept time with the bass drum pedal
while your left foot played organ melodies...
a harmonica...
a banjo...
when you put an old hat out for the crowd passersby wearing suits and ties tried to hide
but they couldn't possibly deny your banshee cries
five decades in a wishing well
only waiting for someone to toss a pail
or a life vest
or some type of help
but your body failed
and your mind failed
and your career fell into oblivion with the rest of your peers
loving what you did only got you so far through these years.
the moral of the story is - no one really gives a shit
but don't cry for the swatted flies - they loved what they did.

Half Mast

4 years old,
i was in a playground digging for bones
underneath the wood chips,
under the stones,
searching for the dead and gone
dinosaurs with their dead end songs
and then

when i was 7
i planted 20 peach pits in the backyard,
one of them grew up to be a tree with 50 arms
it bore the sweetest fruit i've ever tasted
and the roots tore through the dirt
tore through the pavement

all these animals with their paws in traps
all the animals in this bar make me laugh
it's the way that their faces sink at half mast
it's the way that our bodies stink (make noise)

i already know them by heart.
i've memorized their reflections
and know the art.
i’ve felt the rush of a big bet
and got the scars
covering each bit of this chest
we'll play our parts
but every performance will end

so if this is really the start of the finish
i guess i gotta go ahead and settle for chipping away at the infinite...
only felt alive for a minute's time...
all I ever wanted was to be significant - not losing in my prime
sacrificing my body pocket and mind
for a taste of it
spitting in the face of it
they love it when a man plummets
i'd pray but I can't stomach that rubbish

where do they really want to go when they die?
in the clouds with the most high?
underground or the sky with clown-like "BIG GUY"?
in a wooden box
with a suit and tie
so the boll weevils can hide
with some maggots in between toenails
while arachnids swim inside bone marrow?
or would they prefer to go sterile?

God Damnit

i’m locked inside this unforgiving planet
where people chant of freedom and revolution
but have never had it
so i've been on a quest to find a way out of inevitable gravity and death
and i'm at a turning point
wondering if i should quit now
but it's all in jest

i feel i'm dick deep
and the writer's block raping my brain
is editing out all the ways I want to say "fuck you" in good taste

this is an album
about low living,
sucking up dust and discovering quickly
that the truth is unforgiving

all these animals
with their paws in traps
all the animals
in this bar make me laugh
it's the way that our faces sink at half mast
it's the way that our bodies stink

9 years old
saw a man get shot in the road
robbed a bank
never made it home
that's my fucking hero though
a gambler with no soul
took a risk -
buried in a hole

when i was 12
i dreamt abuelo never went to hell
i dreamt he never shot and killed himself
in that Puerto Rican motel
where the cane rum sunk into the shelves
i painted him in heaven

i made believe my father kept clean,
that addiction wasn't built inside of me
or david
but the tree is still growing
and it seems
that the fruit it bore 10 years before just wasn't so sweet.

i must say
i must say (SAY)
i never thought you would you fade

i must say.
i never thought you would

No New York

poor big baby
you poor sad fucking baby
poor poor poor poor
(Astronautalis: cry me a river)

clichés are changing
now there's nothing kitsch about you
you're just a leather face with a hard cock
blowing lines in a punk club bathroom
dreaming of 1966 bitches
the way they flocked to your dick and riches
like a pack of dogs in a fried chicken kitchen

now they're moms and leaders
gone with the wind
and you're just gonorrhea
a fraud and a peon
that never went beyond
your own ego
when the g's turn to c-notes
you can just sit and wait for the lesser of 6 million evils

this is not new york
this is not a sold out crowd
i am not a water boy
i am not your conscience

poor fucking baby

this is not new york
this is not a sold out crowd
i am not a water boy
i am not your conscience

Good Grizzly God
tell me this is not what I'll become
because i can barely stand the backstage stench of cum
that's dried on tagged couches
and if I see another cock and balls drawn on this green room wall then i might quit.
we slept in cold sweat across the midwest
playing metal shows for drunken whores in clown suits who couldn't care less,
lost girlfriends and jobs,
all for the love of a song,
all for the 15 minute moment of glory that's now gone.
paid with fried cheese and bad beer, and i dont drink beer.
we grew beards in those european vans
where fruit flies fluttered on farm fresh pears
and dead deer diaries began (peace to 2mex).
so wrap yourself in the skin of frozen bison
to protect that pretty face from the ice wind.
we try to win but we're just humans with vices and sins
and time is spread thin
like birthday cake icing.

i tried to tell you backstage
but the women got in the way
and the drugs had already hit your brain
(cough cough)

when they reminisce over you
and speak as if your life is through
it just might be true
(pete rock and cl smooth)

this is not new york
this is not a sold out crowd
i am not a water boy
i am not your conscience

i tried to tell you in the van but i couldn’t focus on anything cause you were shaking hands.
tried to tell backstage.
tried to tell you in the van.
i tried to tell you in the hotel room but it’s tough to talk when everybody’s around
couldn’t remember the words to those songs and everything that I was thinking would just come out wrong.

Lament for Captain Julius

(a short note to Julius by Ceschi)

it's only a matter of time 'til we grow up to be just like you.
worn out and dry.
god's gifts don't give for too long do they?

captain oh captain are you swallowing salt?
captain oh captain are you swimming laps in blood?

these stories are so damned long
and most words are filler.
as kids we want to change worlds with our songs
but most of us are quitters.

captain oh captain please prove me wrong.
captain oh captain hope I'm wrong.

Fallen Famous

one round of applause for the dollar bill doldrums
two for the bankrupt distributors
three for the folding indies
four for the fallen famous
five for the lack of support
six for the millions of kids who missed the mid nineties
seven for the rappers telling me “rap is dead”
selling out
in their petticoats
with their petty drama
bourgeois fear
from the rebels who once screamed in our ears
about money and guns,
about politics,
wonder where they'll go?
will they ever try to dig themselves right out of the comfort of their own homes?
when a life implodes fragments flow deep into the black,
into the forgotten,
swallowed whole
in a landslide of kudos that turned to - who knows?

what a shame
to be taken
right into the grave
by the devil and his henchmen
the same ones that took his pension
and left him in a hole defenseless

not to mention
no attention to the messes
just a box-set
sitting next to a Smith and Wesson
fingerprints still lingering on trigger metal
heavy metal on a record spinning

"It's the end of your era I tell you!"
his publicist screams
on a warped tape answering machine
from the 80s
silver lining never came
the defining moments fade
with radio play
put away
any stray
bullet in your brain
get it ready for that long play.

(when something beautiful dies people turn sideways their eyes)

every day something beautiful dies
and nobody cries for the swatted flies
because they lingered around insignificant
living just distant of people's eyes

circling around the bodies of my fallen heroes
making jigsaw puzzles out of bones
while lilacs limp from the stench as flesh erodes

no need to worry about packing bags julius
maggots don't care if you're dressed
your mother's gone
and the suit don't fit
a 9 millimeter's gonna be your last kiss
and no one's gonna be there when you take a final breath
and even though you want to be remembered as an übermensch

it's less
it's less than ashes in the sea
it's less than a fresh coat of makeup on your gray face at a wake with a catholic priest
it's less than heaven
less than irrelevant
less than the most negative segment
that you could even conjure up in your vast imagination
it's tasteless
it's dirt
it's rotting organs
it's worms
and the perfect sounds are drowned out by the ground now
by the cries of the few and far between
by the record labels that are capitalizing on dreams
and they'll repackage you as deluxe
and they'll romanticize your death grunts
but the dust on the dollar bin gatefold sleeve just
screams that nobody gave a fuck.


don't set foot on that bridge
everyone who did has lost a life or limb.

temptation aches in your loins
and grows on your face
after the constant disappointment builds an edifice around
boundaries you've
over bottomless time.
they are carefully hidden behind
this invincible popular image
that simply defies what you really are.
you're no superstar.
julius and the bearded saviour
is a lie.

don't set foot on that bridge
there are trolls under it
waiting for revenge.

don't set foot on that bridge
those wooden planks
won't hold a head growing so big.

don't set foot on that bridge
there are plenty of other options
backroads and alternate highways

don't set foot on that bridge
everyone who did has lost a life or limb.

Serious Business

i just want to know where the wondrous feelings go
when you're all dried up, vacuum sealed, shrink wrapped and exposed
a piece of flesh in a super market refrigerator
poked and prodded
soon to be chewed or garbage
tasted or tested
digested or dissected
into the belly of a beast
or breast fed by machines
it's all the same thing julius



hang in there hangman
swinging from a gallows pole
that dust from your bones
will help the flowers grow


try to die with a smile on -
your final fighting defiant song.
long gone
are the worshiping fans and entourage
messiahs lost
in a corporate sanctioned holocaust
falling off
is more than slipping from buildings or rocks.
we'll remember the classic records forever
those moments before hopelessness choked your focus and left you severed
we can smell the death of winter
it burns out our nostril hairs
and tosses the frail
fossils from here
dropping entrails
over yellow brick roads
that are now covered in piss
not gold
riddled with potholes
so rot slow
with the rest of the apostles
god knows
what the world could have been with you
before the mighty monster chewed your sinews
and spit you into
something so cynical and simple.


there is a terror that plagues the bearers of veins barren of blood, but for the bitter fetor of liquid love.

oh child, undone, your time has come.

in absolute awe, we stared as you fastened on to your fears fearlessly;
peering into the mirror, then crafting songs from your experiences there.
such searing sermons on the self, delivered from an impermanent pulpit,
built of heartwreck, regret, sex, bourbon, and bullshit.
the crashing down was catastrophic;
the sadness sounded from some seven hundred thousand heartbeats halting.
oh, entire cities retired to pity this liars departure.
the fires it sparked were but sires to quiet hearths where aspiring authors made i and irony mired martyrs.
sirens sang from the swells, secrets you swore you’d never tell.
a closed casket to cloak your gross cadaver; bloated. throat: rope ravaged.
your rigor mortise riddled corpse. this empty shell.

Mic King:

they teach us pull ourselves together in a game of hangman
firing blanks and empty the clip now hang in the balancing act - uality
that the honor we have is not about us but the collars we sla - shhhh!
....and there's a hush over the crowd
hanging heads holding the crowns unload silver cloaking the clouds
while clothes make the mantra affix ya face to waistband
take chance, risk inconsiderate vow(el)s
line your liner notes by the throat, cuz this is a noun
win lose or draw, go through withdrawals, perform to your credit
be deified by the palindrome at the speed of life by pawning your ethics
rise or fall in this life sentence by applied grammar
talk is cheap til they hang on your every word like skybanners

David Ramos:

give it up for once last time,
yes, one last hurrah
one final round of applause before our hero dissolves
and when the clock hit ten
there was no opening act
no one to heighten impact
the stage was fully intact
for the one man band to react
to the sold out crowd in his mind
in 1999
no one could have ever thought there would have been a possibility of such a well adjusted wannabe celebrity to ever come to utter culmination like this
so there wasn't any total bliss
an imaginary pussy fest
cause there's no outlets left for the one man band
as he stands on the stage half naked covered in sweat
so let backup tracks on your discman blast
as you revisit the past
and reinterpret the laughs.

Bad Jokes

he apologized
to the folks in the back row who got splattered in blood at the last show
he apologized
for the spit and sweat that dripped off the skin on his chest
but nonetheless
he should have apologized for things that he never did
when he should have
and things he did when he shouldn't have
all those sins
that gathered up to form a 50 foot dragon sleeping in a labyrinth
inside of his brain cavity, stagnant

GG Allin
threatened to blow out his brains on stage
but instead when death day came it was quiet and tame

then there's the one about the girl in Berlin who jumped out a window
and had people convinced her suicide was performance

bad jokes about bad people in bad bars
make the bad worse and make the good crash cars

bad jokes about bad people in bad bars
make the bad worse and make the good crash cars

so have you heard the one about the one man band ?
the one man band?
yes, the one man band

so have you heard the one about the one man band?
i heard he sang like an angel before he hanged

so have you heard the one about the one man band?
the one man band?
yes, the one man band

so have you heard the one about the one man band?
i heard it

but it's too soon to laugh about his follies in the past
about the way that he got fat and couldn't keep it in his pants....
and i remember lies about 5 figure record deals,
headlining bills, and lines when he tried to convince me everything was real...
but-it-was a crying shame
seeing him lie in pain
after realizing the way
he wasted time on a game
that dangled a prize
in front of his tired eyes
like arcade toy cranes
with no claws to play

bad jokes about bad people in bad bars
make the bad worse and make the good crash cars

bad jokes about bad people in bad bars
make the bad worse and make the good crash cars

and he used to sing,

"God damn another one of God's bad jokes
when he stabs and pokes at our last hopes.
we were young once
and wrote songs about not giving a fuck - acting like we had some guts."

laughing on a barstool dumb drunk
as one hand fiddled with some nuts
while the other held a mug
and every crease on his face was a fault line
that looked like it had been drawn there at the beginning of time...
but he was only 45 when he died
with no family left behind
just instruments and a mic
and the story goes that he cried like a baby
as he tied the noose waiting for someone to come and save him.

For My Disappointing Hip Hop Heroes

most of us tried to jump of rooftops and threatened to slit our wrists at 14.
only some succeeded and missed out on the late nineties' underground rap scene.
by 18 it felt beautiful to be man, to stick your dick in pussy holes 'til it got red.
the college girls tasted like diner food and cigarette sauce.
now the grown girls taste like a dust and years of regret protein blend.
even whores won't touch you with a stick
'til you shave your face and lose the weight you gained in LA,
'til you start convincing people that you're not sick,
and start to smile
at the babies and the puppies and the passersby
with symmetrical bodies and rhythmic strides
hidden well beneath the fog of Guilford
you've got nostalgia to kill tonight.

it's been so fucking long since you've had a hero that didn't disappoint or die.

Long Live The Short Lived (feat. Sole)


nobody quite understood
Andy Kaufman's finest jokes
even years after
all the cancer chewed away.
Carmen Miranda's
heart attack on the Durante show
wasn't noticed until she
faded the next day.

all our flesh
we'll perform for the worms,
although the crowds
will be letdowns
at least we'll still perform.

when you rub your eyes too hard and see spots
those are only angels
mixed with souls of the faded famous
still putting on shows
inside of a limbo,
dearly departed,
taken from a life early on
these trifling swan songs
don't last long
the remains
only stay
in an eardrum coffin
lost in dense fog
it's funny
but it's dead wrong
to pluck the gray hairs
right out of a corpse's beard
and make a mask out of insignificance
lingering around the stratosphere
so throw your fists up
for the fossilized apostles
climb all over the graves of giants
to make yourself feel close to

long live the great short lived
they all lived well
long live the great short lived
they all lived well


i show that wear and tear on my face
and my clothes i wear, they tear
cuz im old like where my tears fell
in a cauldron
the elders stoned to death
in world war 1
on french battlefields
the avant garde always died first
die depressed, the way its gotta be
down by booze
clowned by shallow fools
bitten by piranhas in shallow pools
im on a shadow run
sippin my glass
and for them im always tipping my glass
it's half empty
mostly gas
but its still a drink

long live the great short lived
they all lived well
long live the great short lived
they all lived well


rest in a lost cause
find no peace in a fresco
nobody loves you like worms do
show you the light like holes do


so rest in peace with musical pieces
rotting around the guillotine.
all of us remember something significant
but you weren't part of the final equation.


and that’s dirt
you cant go deep without discovering a body
in cities you cant go deep without discovering a body
you cant go deep
you cant go deep


the one man band it broke up
before the world got choked up
before anyone noticed, he dissolved into smoke and dust

the one man band it broke up
before the world got choked up
and the few friends he gathered scattered ashes mixed with coke bumps


we all know the drive is far
when the tongue weighs a ton
although they don’t understand me
i carry a speech for when the grammy's won
torches dont get passed, they go out
the winner dies of dementia
and artists draw no pension
its pecking your eyes while you're trying to read
be the one to murder your faith while you're trying to believe
but dont fret
we all go down but look better in flames
it means nothing if only the tombstones remember our names

only by pissin in the wind will you know the way its going
and only our fallen comrades know the true definition
of revolution


the one man band it broke up
before the world got choked up
before anyone noticed, he dissolved into smoke and dust

the one man band it broke up
before the world got choked up
and the few friends he gathered scattered ashes mixed with coke bumps

(the bigger the giant = the harder it falls
it's simple physics idiots
the bigger the knife = the bigger the scar)

Swallowed Salt

poor big baby.
you finally got your guarantee.
let your ashes mix and match with the bones of the burnt economy in an urn of little earnings.
learning never did a thing for me.
they'll say Rest In Peace.
they'll say Rest In Peace.
but they really mean thanks for letting us be.
thanks for letting us breath.
you swallowed salt and filled your lungs
now there's no room for breathing now
and there's no room for singing.

Julius’ Final Song

do you remember how he walked
onto the stage like the world was ending
and this was his final song?
the way the sweat dripped off his nose
forming a swirly pool of colors
on the cracked wooden club floor?

now i recall the way he moved
back then before the bullet
shattered pieces of his skull
spreading him all over the carpet
in that hotel room –
they couldn't piece him back together
to sing his last tune.

no time machine exists quite yet
and all those voices we once worshipped
solely belong to the dead.
Sleeping so comfortably for now
between some gatefold sleeves and shrink wrap
piled on record store grounds.

we all imagined his last song
a melody
to help us forget that our God was gone
to help us remember his face
before the maggots crawled
inside and out of his eye sockets
such a perfect song

(ahhh ahhh ahhh men
yadi yadi yadi yay
gummy gummy gum drops)

we only wanted one last song
a tune so we could sing along

but he's gone
into the abyss
falling fast
sucked through a giant black hole
deep into the center of the earth
far from anybody's ears
just flung
into oblivion
forgotten by the world
and the puppeteers
that once put him on a pedestal
are repackaging
hoping advances reappear.
now there's no way that we could ever
dig him out beneath the
mountains of records
that cover his dusty grave
he's done
and there's no übermensch
to soothe the senses
truth is that we'll lose in the end
everything dies soon
it's helpless

we only wanted one last song
a tune so we could sing along

so you have you heard the one about the one man?