Souled Out

S. Frank Newbury

An album about excess told with political satire and a sharp edge.

For LYRICS: roll over track title and click "more info".

Read more…

Falling through the cracks of someone else's paradigm...
     Sucked into a tunneled reality…
The consensus trance transmitted
     By the vision of broken towers
Lies heavy upon the minds of the bewildered herd.
Trapped inside the dim and gloomy caverns of their minds...
     Chained to one another by bonds of fear...
The dancing shadows, cast
     Upon the walls they cannot touch,
Terrorize the helpless victims of the few.
Spinning Frames…like you've never seen.
Spinning Frames…it's someone else's meme.
Spinning Frames…lies you've heard before.
Spinning Frames…the hurt you hold.
Fractured by the all-consuming greed of the few…
     A place where schools and prisons look the same...
With thirteen iron bars
     Of bloody red and soiled white,
Her flag turned on its side will show the truth.
Looted of her wealth and honor, crippled by her shame...
     Crushed beneath the weight of an enormous lie….
A place of broken dreams
     And hollowed-out factories
Where the only thing manufactured is consent.
Spinning Frames…the kind that hurts your head.
Spinning Frames…look too close, you're dead.
Spinning Frames…guaranteed to cloud your mind.
Spinning Frames…which way is up?
Armed with reason, wielding logic, science as your guide…
     Driven by your curiosity…
You shatter all their chains
     And you cast away your fear,
Then you stumble from the cave into the light.
Blinded by the beauty of a world you've never seen...
     You long to share the truth of what you've found…
But you never can go back
     To tell the others what it's like,
'Cause it's suicide to return to Plato's cave.
Spinning Frames…are we too far gone?
Spinning Frames…who wants to be their pawn?
Spinning Frames…let's walk toward the dawn.
Spinning Frames…it's all about point of view.
Overloaded by the roar of a thousand machines,
The floor is crowded; it's a typical scene:
The Texas high-rollers with their ten-gallon hats,
The dudes in swank tuxes, the really cool cats,
The card-counting shark in the ugly plaid shirt,
The pimp at the stairs, passing to his whore a folded note
From the man at The Sands, who needs a tasty lady for a night that's out of hand.
Red carpet melting into smoke-stained walls,
All the bodies trapped in an endless fall.
Zombie-glazed eyes staring straight ahead,
Resting all their hopes on that arm of lead.
Lost souls hoping they will win the cash
To get a fresh start, shake the chains of the past…
To get rid of despair, to get rid of the rot…
But the only change here is going down the slots.
Tray-toting ladies slinking down the aisles,
Hookin' all the suckers with their curves and their smiles.
Fishnet stockings barely cover their ass
As their hips wiggle side to side wherever they pass.
Slinging free booze to the fools on the stools,
Keeping 'em drunk is the fuel for the never-ending
Duel with the slots.  Take another shot.
They feed another dime, and they waste some more time.
You pound some free rum, then fall out on the street.
The pulse of the town's like a rhythmic beat.
Flesh-peddlers pimping with a SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
Pushing porno flyers into every gap.
The booze starts to work, and your legs go numb,
So you stumble toward the throbbing of a bass and a drum.
The bouncer at the door looks like The Missing Link,
He says, "Twelve dollar cover, minimum three drinks."
Hypnotizing dancers on the polished brass pole
Shimmy up and down, and the night starts to roll.
Nicotine dreams float like clouds in the air,
But it doesn't really matter 'cause the breasts are all bare.
Someone slips a little somethin' in your drink,
And your mind starts to whirl, your brain can't think.
Lap dancer's shovin' it in your face,
But your mind has blasted off into outer space.
Strobing neon lights burn their image on your brain
And you ask yourself again why the hell you even came.
Acid-drenched visions leave you floating in a daze
And the naked women dancing just enhance the haze.
You climb to your feet.  You lumber out the door.
You plunge into the night even though she wants more.
Out on the town your hallucinations fade,
But the dark, empty bottom of the city…calls…
We followed Father's mysteries
To weird and foreign lands,
Through jungles, plains, and rolling hills,
Through dry and dusty sands.
His journals written long ago
Described the trips he took.
The stories he had written there
Demanded that we look.
We had to see for ourselves
If it was real.
We followed Father's Mysteries
With chainsaws in our hands.
We carried rifles on our backs
Katanas in our bands. 
Shadows cast upon the ground
Might come alive to fight.
Through cobweb fields and haunted plots,
We ran into the night.
When monsters tried to attack,
We'd beat them back.
In Listin Town we hid the crown
To spite the Demon Queen.
At Windy Cliffs we fought a snake
Whose scales were red and green.
At Camelot we helped a man
To fix a magic vase.
Valhalla's halls had broken walls
That spanned all time and space.
We travelled to off to the sun
And had some fun.
We followed Father's mysteries
Not long after he died.
We saw adventures with our eyes
And proved he had not lied.
This journey took us to the stars,
His path was something strange.
The dangers lurking there would leave
A lesser mind deranged.
To this day we roam
And might not go home.
Is it…TOO LATE…for climbing that mountain?
Is it…TOO LATE…to capture that dream?
Is it…TOO LATE…to be a success?
Is it too late for me?
Is it…TOO LATE…to make lots of cash?
Is it…TOO LATE…to be a good friend?
Is it…TOO LATE…for making that phone call?
Is it too late for me?
The world keeps moving at breakneck speed,
And time keeps rolling fast.
Before I figure out what to do
The chance to act has passed.
Is it…TOO LATE…to quit my bad habits?
Is it…TOO LATE…to get back in shape?
Is it…TOO LATE…to get it together?
Is it too late for me?
Is it…TOO LATE…for saving our country?
Is it…TOO LATE…for ending despair?
Is it…TOO LATE…to fix all our problems?
Is it too late for us?
Is it…TOO LATE…for serving indictments?
Is it…TOO LATE…to save rule of law?
Is it…TOO LATE…to punish the banksters?
Is it too late for us?
The world is angry at the USA
For murders and wars unjust.
We'd better figure out how to live in peace
Before we get nuked to dust.
Is it…TOO LATE…for saying we're sorry?
Is it…TOO LATE…for ending the wars?
Is it…TOO LATE…to save someone's life?
Is it too late for us?
Is it too late for me?
Well I…started writin' 'bout and hour ago
When the walls started melting away
And the whole wide world turned upside down like before.
How did it get this way?
Then the rains came down, a Technicolor affair
Drenching everything that got in the way.
And I stumbled 'round the room, couldn't find any door.
I think I lost a day.
Have to…ACT TOUGH every once in a while
Just to try to get anything done.
It's a complicated state, which you try to ignore,
'Cause you might still wind up on the floor.
But I still…have this smile…ON MY FACE!!!
But I still…have this smile…ON MY FACE!!!
So I…REACHED OUT!  Tried to steady my gait,
But I couldn't keep the demons at bay.
They were picking at the pieces, ripping off big chunks,
And paralyzed!  I couldn't walk any more.
Then I…STOOD THERE!  Tried to hold my ground.
I didn't want to let anyone down.
I tried to muster up the courage, stick around for a while.
I said, "I won't back down!"
Have to…ACT TOUGH every once in a while
Just to try to get anything done.
It's a complicated state, which you try to ignore,
'Cause you might still wind up on the floor.
But I still…have this smile…ON MY FACE!!!
But I still…have this smile…ON MY FACE!!!
Then the floor opened up.  I started falling way down.
The world tried to swallow me up.
I was spinning round and round in a spiral tailspin.
I might've just thrown up!
I was carried by the currents down a tunnel for a while,
Then dumped into a leather suitcase
That was propped up by a mobster cutting tongues out of some guy
Without even leaving a trace.
The stars whizzed past.  A little baby exploded.
I saw some cosmonauts by a lake.
They were playing a big cello while a duck squatted down.
I wish I had a plate!
Then I bumped into a table standing round in the hall.
How did it get this late?
On the surface of the table, things were moving in and out.
I think I saw a snake!
Then my head came down, pupils shrank back to size.
Good thing I found my way.
Things were going pretty bad, but now I've turned myself around.
Looks like a whole new day.
Where did I go?  Even I could not relate
To the things leaking out of my head.
It might have been a wild ride, but it has happened before.
When do I go again?
Have to…ACT TOUGH every once in a while
Just to try to get anything done.
It's a complicated state, which you try to ignore,
'Cause you might still wind up on the floor.
But I still…have this smile…ON MY FACE!!!
But I still…have this smile…ON MY FACE!!!
It's the Dead Life…
To the office again.
It's the Dead Life…
Were we ever free men?
Remember to do what you're told.
It's the Dead Life…
Pushing papers on a desk.
It's the Dead Life…
Your cubicle is like a nest.
Remember you won't see the sun again.
It's the Dead Life…
Your boss yells in your face.
It's the Dead Life…
Your whole life is a disgrace.
Remember there's no way out.
It's the dead life…
Watch your cash go down the drain.
It's the dead life...
What's the point of this pain?
Remember you'll never get out of debt.
It's the Dead Life…
Watching late night TV.
It's the Dead Life…
Zombie eyes that barely see.
Fall asleep and do it all over again.
7. SUPER BOWL 3000
It's time for:
Super Bowl 3000.
The crowd has filled the stands
With piss-warm beer, Monsanto snacks
Shipped in from foreign lands.
Soldiers guard each entrance.
Tanks patrol the grounds.
Snipers ring the upper stands,
Their guns aimed at the crowd.
The PA blares the anthem
Played by the Army Band.
But no one knows the lyrics now,
And no one even stands.
They fire off some cannon,
The blasts are good and loud.
A squad of jets flies through the sky,
Dropping chem-trails on the crowd.
With a flourish of some trumpets,
It's time to start the game.
The players march onto the field,
The teams are always the same.
The Union-Loving Democrats,
The gun-toting G.O.P.
The only two teams left in the league,
They're quite a sight to see!
Supreme Court referees arrive,
But only just a quorum.
They wear their robes striped white and black
Like a prison uniform.
The President, he takes the mike,
And blesses the USA.
He begs the teams to just play fair,
Then leaves to cash his pay.
Chief Justice blows the whistle.
The Kick-off sails downfield.
The two teams hustle back and forth,
Each tries to seal the deal.
The Democrats push forward
With a play aimed at the poor.
The G.O.P. deflects the blow
With another call for war.
The Dems try deregulation,
And pander toward the banks.
The G.O.P. won't be outdone,
They tighten up their ranks.
The G.O.P. gets gutsy:
They call for cutting schools.
The Democrats don't really mind,
So they fumble around like fools.
Both teams attack with gusto,
But the fight is just a fake.
They share the very same locker room
And both are on the take.
They get their plays from coaches
Who like to shout and roar.
The coaches are really lobbyists,
The lowest form of whore.
The coaches wear expensive suits
And earphones on their heads.
The orders piped into the 'phones
Come directly from the Fed.
The Fed prefers to watch the show
From many miles away.
No one knows they run the game.
The players have no say.
Near halftime nothing new has come,
The ball hasn't moved an inch.
The crowd gets bored and starts to yell.
Someone starts to build a lynch.
The crowd starts throwing vegetables.
The players leave the field.
As soon as all those guys are gone,
A bomb explodes…low-yield.
The blast takes out some poor folk.
The rich are A-OK
Because the bomb was really planted there
By the good ol' CIA.
There aren't many casualties,
It happened in a blink.
The troops fan out among the crowd,
Arresting those who think.
Everybody in the crowd
Sits down and looks in fear.
No one dares to raise his eyes,
No voices can you hear.
The President comes on the mike.
He phones from Pebble Beach.
He says we caught the terrorists,
They can't escape our reach.
He whips the crowd back into shape,
And all chant, "USA!"
When the players come back out again,
It's like a brand new day.
Now the people love both teams.
They want to see them fight.
The manly Dems and G.O.P.
Drift further toward the right.
The game ends like it started out:
A tie, and no one scores.
The only losers there that day:
We The People, on all fours.
When I awoke, it seemed like a joke:
I couldn't remember my name.
Where did I live? My mind was a sieve,
And who in the hell was this dame?
My clothes were a mess, but I tried my best
To sneak out before she could wake.
I slipped from the house, and felt like a louse,
But some things I just couldn't fake.
Remember my name?
Remember my name?
I walked for a while, probed my mind for that file:
The one that could tell me a bit.
My brain was a blank. My heart and hope sank,
So I found a park bench for a sit.
A bum came along.  He was singing a song.
He carried a bottle of wine.
He sat next to me.  He reeked of old pee.
He was pungent of grape from the vine.
Remember my name?
Remember my name?
He elbowed my side without breaking stride
In his song…he simply kept crooning.
He offered the carafe. He asked for no tariff.
So I drank some, then, BAM! I was swooning!
My memories came back, mind sharp as a tack.
That wine was a magical brew.
So I shook that bum's hand.  I felt really grand.
I took off to go find my crew.
Remember my name?
Remember my name?
It's not a game.
Who's to blame?
I couldn’t remember my name.
It's not a game.
Who's to blame?
I couldn’t remember my name.
September blue…cloudless blue sky above.
A crisp autumn day…everything seemed to be going well.
But I can't explain
A problem I see:
Only two planes,
But three buildings fell?
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
Dashing and strong…a leader of men.
Cut down in his prime…elected thirty-fifth President.
But I can't explain
A problem I see:
Why was George Bush
In Dallas that day?
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
Drones in the sky…killing from many miles away.
Those signature strikes…you'd better shave off that bushy beard.
But I can't explain
A problem I see:
What if those drones
Get turned back on me?
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
There's somethin' else goin' on here.
Indefinite detention in the ultimate prison camp:
The water boarding is breathless!
Though it might leave you tired and damp.
The staff is so friendly; they LOVE their jobs,
They would even work with no pay.
I hear it's nice this time of year
Down there in Guantanamo Bay.
They'll take you tomorrow
Even if your bomb is a dud.
And if you get very lucky,
They'll paint you with fake menstrual blood.
If you join in the hunger strike,
You can all share the same feeding tube.
It's quite the lovely retreat
Down there in Guantanamo Bay.
The USA…
The beacon of Freedom and Hope.
If you end up in prison
Make sure that you don't drop your soap.
The NDAA, The Patriot Act
Our Homeland Security...
How long 'till they send you and me
Down there to Guantanamo Bay.
Vacation jewel of the Global Detention Tour,
A great place to send your tired,
Your hungry and maybe your poor.
Don't send me to Abu Ghraib in Iraq,
Or Bagram Afghanistan.
Make sure there's a cot left for me
Down there in Guantanamo Bay.
I just may never return
From down there in Guantanamo Bay.
Who needs Geneva Conventions
Down there in Guantanamo Bay.
Habeas Corpus be damned
Down there in Guantanamo Bay.
I.                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth,
                  And no one knows his name.
                  Descended from a secret clan
                  Of bankers with no shame.
                  His family has ruled the Earth
                  For several centuries,
                  And like his kin, he hides the truth
                  To operate with ease.
                  His power nearly absolute,
                  He works behind the scenes.
                  His cutouts, minions, fronts and fakes,
                  An evil group of fiends.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
II.                  His corporate network spans the globe,
                  His grasp of wealth complete.
                  All natural resources claimed,
                  He owns them nice and neat.
                  The law is always on his side,
                  It's rotten to the core.
                  To bribe a judge or congressman
                  Is cheaper than a whore.
                  All agencies of government,
                  All outlets of the press,
                  All genuflect before his might
                  And total ruthlessness.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
III.                  His Central Banks control the world,
                  They keep the public poor.
                  The countries with no Central Bank
                  Are targeted for war.
                  He owns the militaries of
                  Most major nation-states,
                  Because the politicians there
                  Are blank illiterates.
                  He finances both sides in war.
                  His weapons firms supply.
                  His construction firms rebuild.
                  Who cares how many die?
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
IV.                  The Federal Reserve, in truth,
                  His private company
                  That has monopoly upon
                  Supply of all money.
                  Each dollar issued for a bond,
                  To Treasury it lends.
                  Because of all the interest owed,
                  A debt that never ends.
                  And when it's time settle up,
                  Guess who pays the bill?
                  The good 'ol U.S. taxpayer,
                  Whose wealth is dropped to nil.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
                  He's the Secret King of Planet Earth.
V.                  Now we're prisoners from debt,
                  He even owns you and me.
                  'Cause the best chains used to bind a slave
                  Are the ones he cannot see.
                  Jesus wasn't known to fight.
                  He raised his fist just once:
                  To throw the money changers out,
                  Those evil rotten cunts.
                  Now the word is getting out
                  And some folks know the score.
                  The internet may save the day,
                  Reveal the hidden lore…
                  Of the Secret King of Planet Earth.
                  The Red Shield King of Planet Earth.
We found it at that house,
Where we lived for several years.
We pulled together as a crew
As we packed away the beers.
We charted a new course.
Our friendships drew us tight.
We often partied all day long
Then rolled into the night.
But now, everyone is leaving.
It's time to hit the road for good.
Who'd guess we'd look back and be grieving?
Oh…where did they go?
Oh…where did they go?
Oh…where did they go?
Oh…where did they go?
We thought we had the time.
We thought we had it right.
We felt like things would never change,
Though we knew deep down they might.
Invincible to pain,
Our youth had made us strong.
We used to do a full day's work,
Then study all night long.
But now, everyone is tired,
With jobs and kids and bills to pay,
All-nighters just might get you fired.
Oh…where did it go?
Oh…where did it go?
Oh…where did it go?
Oh...where did it go?
It felt just like a dream,
A wife who'd never nag.
You told me that the only way out
Was in a body bag.
You said you'd never leave.
You said you'd never go.
You said our love would live forever,
And I trusted you to know.
But now, I am living all alone
In a house too big for only one,
And there is no one left to phone.
Oh…where did you go?
Oh…where did you go?
Oh…where did you go?
Oh…where did you go?
I got my fat pants on,
Gotta lose some weight.
Eatin' too much food,
Always clean my plate.
Drinkin' too much booze,
Stayin' up too late.
I got my fat pants on again.
I got my fat pants on,
Gotta lose my gut.
Gotta drop those pounds
Right off my butt.
Shake up the routine
And get out 'a my rut.
I got my fat pants on again.
I got my fat pants on,
How'd it get this far?
Drinkin' frappachinos
And drivin' my car.
Never workin' out,
Just sittin' at the bar.
I got my fat pants on again.
I got my fat pants on.
I've been rolling hard,
And now I'm a big
'Ol tub of lard.
Get off 'a my ass
And get back on guard,
Throw my fat pants in the trash.
Twenty years after the bombs had dropped
And the whole world hit "The Collapse",
He rode into town on a steed of steel,
Aluminum, plastic, and glass.
He came from the Priory of Prius,
Found deep in the mountains of Japan.
A modern day samurai warrior,
A solitary, honorable man.
He drove a Prius Hybrid,
The last one off the block.
Men would have killed him to take that car,
A car they used to mock.
He cruised around the countryside
Helping folks to right some wrongs.
Although he never spoke his name,
He lived in many-a-song.
The Prius Whisperer.
The Prius Whisperer.
The day that he rode to that broken town
On the edge of the Old Frontier,
He could smell bad trouble floating in the air,
So he stopped to drink a beer.
He parked his car next to a bar,
Then locked it with a beep.
The security system was state-of-the-art,
It made onlookers weep.
When he pushed aside two bat-wing doors,
The bar fell into a hush.
He took a seat, and tipped his hat
Toward a hooker who hid a blush.
The bartender poured him a pungent brew
From an old and rusty tap.
The beer looked green, it had no head,
Its flavor notes were crap.
The bartender tried to apologize,
'Cause he hated to serve the dregs.
But his stock was robbed two nights ago,
Two hundred brand-new kegs.
The Whisperer asked him for the name
Of the scum who had taken the stash.
Before the man could say a word,
He was stopped by a thunderous crash.
All eyes in the bar flicked toward the doors
To see who had made the noise.
It was ol' Red Gerald, that son of a bitch,
And his God-forsaken boys.
Ol' Red was the meanest bastard in town,
And he stunk, so avoid his whiff.
Him and his boys once threw a box
Of puppies off a cliff.
Ol' Red was pissed like he always was,
His fists were balled up tight.
When he saw the stranger sitting at the bar,
He slunk over to pick a fight.
The rest of the bar scattered from the room,
But the bartender didn't go far.
Ol' Red looked down at the Whisperer,
Said, "That outside your car?"
The Whisperer nodded with a tip of his brim.
Ol' Red and his boys had a fit.
They laughed and they pointed at the Whisperer,
Ol' Red said, "Your car is shit!"
The Whisperer gently returned his glass,
The corners of a smile on his face.
He turned to Red, looked him dead in the eye,
And said to Red, "Let's race."
Red and his boys didn't laugh this time
They could tell this man meant business.
Ol' Red snapped his fingers and waved his hand
For the 'tender to be a witness.
"We play for keeps around these parts,"
Ol' Red told him with a grin.
"When I whip your ass on the roads out back,
I'll take your car for the win."
The Whisperer countered with very simple terms
That made the scene real clear.
If the Whisperer beats Ol' Red today,
He must return the beer.
Ol' Red agreed, didn't try to deny
That he had been the thief.
He turned on his heel and started to go,
Said, "Let's get started, Chief."
The Whisperer dropped some coins for the beer,
Then walked back to his car.
A little bit later Ol' Red returned
In a souped-up black Jaguar.
While he'd been gone, some men had gathered
To help to conduct the race.
They had set up a starting line and programmed two maps
Of the course that the drivers must take.
Both cars were fitted with the two special maps:
GPS bolted to each driver's seat.
Attached to each map was a hunk of C4
To stop any urge to cheat.
The cars lined up at the starting line,
Jet black versus cherry red.
Ol' Red gunned his engine, it blasted a roar.
The Prius was quiet as the dead.
The bartender's daughter was a hot little number
Whose clothes were made of lace.
She was given two flags, placed between the cars,
And told to start the race.
Her name was Grace and she claimed to be legal,
Though she still hadn't found a man.
The look she gave to the Whisperer
Said, "Catch me if you can."
With a flick of her wrists and a bounce in the air
She shouted out, "Ready, Set, GO!"
The Jaguar blasted from the starting line,
The Prius glided forward in LOW.
'Ol Red put the pedal to the metal all the way.
He engaged all thousand horse'.
The Whisperer nudged the Prius along,
Keeping track of the map's winding course.
About a mile from the end of the race,
The jaguar started to sputter.
Then the engine shut down, the car was out of gas,
'Ol Red had to park in the gutter.
Before too long, the Prius caught up,
And the Whisperer slowed a little.
He rolled down his window and called to 'Ol Red,
Who was boiling mad and bitter.
He told 'Ol Red, "The secret, of course,
"Is controlling your fuel and pace.
"And just like the turtle used to say,
Slow and steady wins the race."
The Prius glided toward the finish line,
Lots of fuel left for the run.
Thanks to the miracle of regenerative braking,
The car was far from done.
The Whisperer crossed the finish line
And the town folk erupted with joy.
The Whisperer rolled down his window again
To directly address Red's boys.
"You can find your dad about a mile up the road,"
He told the sullen punks.
"But before you go, bring that beer to the bar,
And it better not be skunked."
The town folk moved off to celebrate.
Young Grace, she made her move.
Leaning into his window to highlight her breasts,
She told him, "I like your groove."
The Whisperer smiled and patted her hand,
And he told her, "You're a nice gal.
"But I'm old enough to be your dad.
"Why don't we just be pals?"
Young Grace stomped off, disappointed by her loss.
The Whisperer's work here was done.
But from out of the shadows leapt evil 'Ol Red.
He was brandishing…a gun!
The Whisperer didn't take time to think,
He simply hit the lead.
Before 'Ol Red could squeeze off a shot,
He was smashed to pulp…quite dead.
Entrails covered the Prius' hood.
'Ol Red was just a smear.
His blood was the same shade as the car:
Red on Red, you just may hear.
The town was happy and gay that day.
The scourge was finally washed clean.
But the Whisperer didn't stay for long.
He quickly split the scene.
He fastened his belt, and for a moment struck a pose,
Like a modern-day knight on his steed.
Then the Prius Whisperer drove off
To find out where that road might lead.
S. Frank Newbury:  Souled Out

1. Spinning Frames  [6:31]
2. Cool Vegas  [3:44]
3. Father’s Mysteries  [3:24]
4. Too Late  [2:32]
5. Smile On My Face  [4:18]
6. The Dead Life  [3:12]
7. Super Bowl 3000  [8:11]
8. Remember Me  [3:58]
9. Somethin’ Else  [3:46]
10. Intransigence  [2:56]
11. Guantanamo Bay  [3:32]
12. The Secret King Of Planet Earth  [4:37]
13. Marley’s Ghosts  [4:19]
14. Fat Pants  [1:36]
15. The Prius Whisperer  [8:16]
16. Sunshine In My Head  [4:00]

     This album is dedicated to the principle of “excess”, for without pushing the boundaries and finding that red line, how do we measure our true potential?  Leaving our comfort zone can often be fruitful, but the journey is painful because of the risk of failure, or worse…offending the powerful.
     Conspiracies surround us, but we often do not see them because we have been conditioned to ignore them.  No one wants to be branded a “conspiracy theorist” because that term has been linked to ridicule.  However, when one begins to look at the world through a more refined lens of critical thinking, one learns how to better discern fact from fiction, history from propaganda, and truth from lies.  And with this new perspective can come some surprising insights.
     Asking questions should never be discouraged, because that is how we learn.  Questioning the authorities from every realm, from government to academia, history to science, religion to philosophy, is the only way to verify truth.  Not questioning authority provides that authority with the opportunity to abuse its power.  So, whether right or wrong, we should celebrate the “conspiracy theorist” for performing that most patriotic of services:  questioning authority and demanding proof that that authority is serving the greater good, rather than profiting from the ignorance of those who do not ask questions in the first place.
Scott Newbury – September 2013