by Smear Campaign

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released April 5, 2015

Written and produced by Smear Campaign
Engineered and mixed by Josh Stanley
Mastered by Dave Polster
Artwork by Parita Shah

Released April 5, 2015

Taylor Kreemer - Keys, Drums, Programming, Voice
Aaron Smith - Acoustic Bass
Model Citizen, Josh Stanley - Voice, Electric Bass, Sound Design, Programming

Track 3 co-written by Brand Knew, Miles Davis, and Fugazi



all rights reserved


Smear Campaign Chicago, Illinois

Smear Campaign is a stew of jazz, trip-hop, and progressive rock influences that is currently being brought to a boil in Chicago, IL.

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Track Name: Small Ponds
I can't sleep tonight,
The caterwaul outside,
Voices yelling at me,
Warding off my dreams,
No depth of darkness can hide me from my own eyes,

I need to get out,
Before my resentful tendencies,
Taint the memories,
"I’m not that sentimental,"
Pledge your allegiance to the dirt,
See if your garden grows,
But as you stand at attention look to the skies,
The locusts eyes are on this town,
It's killing me,
Constant pull with no release,
Life's passing by,

I need to get my feet on solid ground,
Before I drown in this pond,
The bricks under my feet,
They weigh me down,
Drowning has never looked good on me.
Track Name: Frostbite
I'm shaken,
I don't know what about it takes me,
No mistaking,

I'm faking,
Trying to convince myself,
That I am fine without,

You to write me,
To lay beside me,
To feel the warmth that you provide me,

Sidewalks are treadmills,
The roads are all sloping,
The grass is all dead,
The alleys are frozen,
The cold of the night,
Threatens to crack my head open,
Spill my brains to the street,
The gutters are choking,

My hope's been taken,
From it's cage,
Leaving scars,
Never fading,

My head's vacant,
Trying to find the answer,
To cure the cancer,

You spend your nights in my head,
As something unspoken,
Something unsaid,
Thoughts infused with a particular taste,
Flavored by the void,
Between my eyes and your face.
Track Name: New Leather (feat. Brand Knew)
It’s tough when you’re the type that needs space,
That needs the time to unwind,
And take off the face,
That you have to display,

For the benefit of those that won’t blink,
Or be asked to de-think,
Just to survive,
To be,
Technically alive,
But with the wool pulled so firmly over their eyes,
One has to marvel at the fact that they are still breathing,
Let alone posting all of this shit online,

But can you blame them?
It would sure be easier,
To live a life blind to kind that can be sleazier,

Especially those in power positions,
Those that put their faith in our submission,

“They’ll vote for me twice or more,
If I can seem just a little bit nicer,
Or at the very least a bit less sociopathic,
Than my contemporaries on the socio-track that leads to elliptical offices,
With a gate to keep out empty pockets,
Because you know they’ll just be asking for change,
And I’ve got nothing to gain by de-rigging this game,
To let American’s dream about escaping the same lane,
The lines on the road say, ‘There will be no passes,’
Don’t think passing some classes will change what your class is,
The system is working against your asses,
And if you’re feeling paranoid,
Let me remind you why that is,”

There’s no escaping eyes, in the city,
No escaping the politicians lies, in the city,
Everyday, in your face, people crying, and the shitty
Every way that they describe the poor and the sickly,
Makes me,

[Brand Knew]
[Sick to my stomach,
Sick in the head,
Sick of being told to blindly eat what I’m fed,
You’re used to compliance but today you’ll get instead,
A bite to the hand,
Then I’m coming for your neck,]

[I’m coming for your neck,
My whole squad’s here trying to get their respect,
Niggas can’t see,
Got their eyes wide shut,
Need these guns and this power and this motherfucking check,
Last week he got robbed,
They left his ass soaking wet,
All for the money Uncle Sam grabbed from his check,
Now homie in a ditch praying that he had a tech,
Or a 9 or an AK,
Cause these niggas chase you down for that quick pay,
Everybody from the hood wants a bentley,
“I don’t want his broke ass,” is what his chick say,
We’re out here trying to live,
Y’all just out here living,
We’re out here trying to live,
Stacking bread,
Bail this brother out of prison.]

I’ve spent most of my years buoyant,
Floating up where there is air to breathe,
Having no purpose to look below the surface,
Like most, sky sure was all I cared to see,
But carelessly I let concern ensnare my feet,
As a gangster might,

Cement perspective on my left,
Empathy on my right,

And as I begin my decent to the coral graveyard,
Down where they resent those with moral safeguards,
It’s all I can do to stay true to my humanist nature,
Because if you ever get close to a human,
And human behavior,
You’ll see they can be as wicked as they are clever,
Your skin will crawl,
New leather.
Track Name: The Train to Glory
The don't see me,
They don't even look,
Every eye shies away,
Every ear hears nothing,
Don't they see that I'm freezing,
That I won't make it through the night,

And it's been so long,
Since I've felt somebody's touch,
Since I've had someone to hold,
Surrounded by people,
But a burden to them all,

Remain steadfast,
Your faith will be rewarded,
Each breath until your last,
A name should be apportioned,
You will see his light if you can afford it,

Can you afford it?
Can you ignore it?
Can you?
Track Name: A Room with a View
I once told The World to pack his things and go.
I could take no more of his abuse.

Afraid to speak. The lack of sleep.
Convinced I'd lost my mind,
I could not bear to hear the news.

Turned towns to craters.
A mass grave for the young and old.
A mound of papers mightier than the sword he holds.
I watched this, breathless,
but I couldn't let him go.

For the next four years, I resolved to bite my tongue.
To make no waves.
To shut my eyes.

But my World has not relented, and I surely have to end it.

To make a statement, he'd sacrifice a vernal soul.
Face down on the pavement,
a boy,
his kill,
the body cold.
Not the first or last time, still I can not let him go.

"Who are you to say that we deserve better?
What do you think you have to prove?
Who are you to say that it can be better?
Why can't you just enjoy the view?
What do you have to lose?"

I confess, I often paint with a broad brush,
the only tool the world allots me,
and he expects no fuss,
saying, "At least I gave you a palate."
And that's true.
And it used to be vibrant.
But the colors have dwindled, and now it seems
only images of red and black are welcome in his scenes,
As the canvas screams,
“There are more than two colors in my head,"
A truth I must shed if I am ever going to shut both of my eyes,
And slow my breathing for the night.
Regain the strength to face it all again tomorrow.

It's hard to look unaffected with bags under your eyes.

"Who are you to say that we deserve better?
Who are you to say that it can be better?
Who are you?
How can we make this better?"

I'll bide my time then slip away,
Always the question,
Where can I go that's guarded from his gaze?