Geary for President

Geary for President

 Hoboken, New Jersey, USA

Geary for President met in 2004 and has been fortunate enough to share the stage with acts ranging from Dashboard Confessional to Blues Traveler. We make honest music and sing about issues that are important to us.


Geary for President is a group of musicians that met at Loyola College in Maryland. After meeting in 2004, they prematurely applied for a Battle of the Bands in Baltimore and were given first place honors. A month later, they played their first big gig with pop/rock star Gavin DeGraw.

After graduating, Geary relocated to NYC to pursue careers in education and a thriving music scene. They are finishing up an album with Producer Dan McLoughlin at Garden Street Music in Hoboken (credits include Weezer's "Pinkerton," Dinosaur Jr., Buffalo Tom, etc.).

Geary's musical composition tends to reflect the lyrics of the tune, supporting the seemingly wide range of styles. Poetic lyrics and well crafted vocal harmonies have set Geary apart and given them a spot with the NJ Songwriters in the Round.



Written By: Mike Ferrara

So I sat down with my java and you sat down with your tea, and we talked about disparities
and the latest overseas.

Like a boy that gave up on himself for some teacher's shitty creed, and how we wished they'd teach in the factory and run down the whole building.

Cause with each morning coffee, and each bruising, harsh alarm, they'll stab a hope for clarity and rob our children blind.

And then go home at 2:30 and dread that next alarm, and justify their actions by defining a lost cause.

But we knew better all along, this field has no lost cause. There's only lost professionals that dance instead of walk.

So we sprinkle down our water and ensure there's room to grow, and hold ourselves accountable
for their desire to know.

Brush the paint across the canvas and believe.

So I slowly sipped my java and you slowly sipped your tea.
I thanked God for your company
and for painting such beauty.

Then casually you mentioned how your heart broke over war,
and you started up a story that I had not heard before.

About a soldier just turned 20 from a caring Bushwick home.
He loved his friends and family, bought their bread by fixing cars.

Until a cold army recruiter drooled his way through the whole block,
said, "Hey kid, we need a mechanic, and I hear that you're the top."

Well, his mama cried, he said, "Dry your eyes, I'll be home by next spring. You'll be thankful when we trade it all for Emmanuel's degree."

Apparently, "mechanic" means something different overseas. The line of fire lined with fire the last car he would see.

Well, his mama cried, and her wet eyes showed Emmanuel the sea.

He enlisted three weeks later in his brother's memory.

And you teared up as you told me, in intricate detail, how her mother blamed herself each night, lost her faith and found her ale.

I finished up my last sip as you completed yours.

And the feelings that we felt explained its all worth fighting for.


Written By: Mike Ferrara

You crawl to your room and pretend that it's Walden.

With each lonely tune, you hear Sirens calling.

They'll call and call and call, and you'll go on and on.

Dance with the bulls that rage in their freedoms.

Swing with the wind that called you a leader.

It called and called and called. You went on and on.

Innocuous Conversation

Written By: Mike Ferrara

I'll hold you close, but I can't help but feel that maybe I shouldn't be here.

I don't want to be your one mistake.

When you said, "I love innocuous conversation," I was locked on baby blue. Look at me. I'm screaming "I love you," inside, they're screaming "I love you."

Now the slides are set. The frames tick by in slow motion, and you ask me, "How's this gonna end?"

I'll reply with a nervous smile. "You know just as well as I that the ending doesn't mean a thing without the suspense."

But this security is flawed, and you know that I am caught, so let me tell you how I feel. I'm not good at describing this. One thing I thought you should know is that the time I spend with you is the time I'm happiest.

You said we'll be okay after this break. Just give me your word that I'll see your smile again, and I won't compete with him.

San Diego

Written By: Mike Ferrara

He said, "I can't have it anymore. You've changed."

She said, "I can't have it anymore. You've stayed the same."

So they'll come home to this place, fake a smile and embrace. Superficial questions glazed with the fear of being late.

He said, "Ever since we were 10, you've been spontaneous."

She said, with the hope of recompense, "Locate the rust."

But it's swept under the rug, change is the worst kind of drug. It consumes our cognition and distorts our first reasons.

Meet me in San Diego.

He said, "Well, what about our 8 & 10? They need our structure now."

She said, "The pain we'd put them through outweighs a fractured vow."

Their innocence is admirable, and their smiles still sincere. They'll hopefully remain when they're weathered by these years.

He said, "Before I let you go...I've always been faithful."

She said, "As rough as our lives are, I'd never let you go."

So they'll come home to this place, fake a smile and embrace. Superficial questions glazed with the fear of being late.

Meet me in San Diego.

On the Train

Written By: Mike Ferrara

On the train, one day, I met a man
He intrigued me with his grin.
So I sat down, put out my hand,
and he politely kept his in.

And I asked him how he was, he said,
"I can tell you how I've been.
And I can tell you how I'm gonna be,
but this isn't who I am."

That struck a chord with me, so I said,
"What is it that you like?"
He said, "My silver cross, my purple heart
and my baby's dark brown eyes."

Then he stopped me there and said,
"Young man, what issues have you trying?"
I sang, "Why build these brand new prisons when all of our schools are dying?"

He admitted he mistook me,
said his life drew from a map.
He said his eyes are still in New Orleans
and his grin forgot what happened.

And I took it in.

He's an apple tree
and almost every apple's on the ground.
And I fear that they will spoil
if they're not delivered now.
He's an old five-stringed guitar,
but somehow I recognize his song.
I'm familiar with his melody
and I'll gladly sing along.

For lack of novel things to say,
I cited Mr. Poe.
I said, "Tell me truly, I implore."
He said, "Nameless here, forevermore."

And I asked him how he found his way to Brooklyn from the South. He socratically responded without opening his mouth.

Then my stop had come, and though premature,
I thanked him for his friendship.
He put out his hand and said, "1,2,3"
and I'm not sure what he meant by it.

So I stepped off to the platform and I glanced back at my new friend.
For the first time then I too saw his family there with him.

I smiled as I glanced back
and I thought to jump back in,
until my eyes found a lost lady
with a lost intriguing grin.

And I took it in.

To this day, I still question
my friend's departing words.
Perhaps 1,2,3 more days for him?
Or 1,2,3 more ways I'd sin?

But of all scenarios
that I absorbed into my skin,
I think he tried to tell me, then and there,
that the clock just keeps on tickin'.

The Statue

Written By: Mike Ferrara

She spends her days under the influence and her nights out for a ring.
Even she saw no coincidence that lately she's sleeping on a pew, beneath a statue, with a candle lit for two.
She filled her lungs with potion but fears that she already blew.

And she stares up at warm, wooden eyes, and she lets them break her pain.
She recites the prayers she's memorized and prays we'll do the same.
She still sees you sitting solemnly, kneeling there without a word,
lost in years of questions that have never been answered.

She left feeling successful, and that's when she heard the ring.
It was not the ring she wanted, but, hell, at least it was something.
And the nurse revered her bravery.
She said, "This case defies our industry. The physics here have beaten me, and they've left us all to blame."

That's when she saw you, she looked into your eyes and you gently broke her pain.
The statue goes unrecognized, but it goes on just the same.
She'll return below the influence,
Where doctors don't need instruments,
Where lovers can be intimate,
Where she's not in control.

And she knows they'll meet again someday, but hopefully in some other way.
Without the pressure to stay, the statue is left alone.
And when the dog arrived, it bit.
Deep down, she discovered it.
She knows the docs could not do it, but would never say.


2007 EP-Third and Hudson
2005 EP-Autumn

Set List

Geary For President is happy to perform for their allotted time, be it 20 minutes or 2 hours. Lead vocals are given to the primary songwriter of the tune and drumming duties are shared amongst the three. Set lists vary, but a few favorites...

On the Train
Innocuous Conversation
Baltimore, 29 Miles
An Eye on Julia
San Diego
Blazon 67
This Year
Time Again
The Statue

**All original material.**