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Bright Eyes Miscellaneous On My Way To Work There's a car parked where the block begins And these people singing praises Say it's all because of him And there's a bird perched on a frayed wet wire And his voice sings out for a lover But it's covered by the choir Of voices reaching way beyond the rafters With devotion they perform these sacred tasks They cross themselves and offer up their checkbooks Slight suffering is not too much to ask Besides, we all are making money And we're all fucking alone And we don't know what we're doing Maybe just buying us some hope Because we know that we are lonely Well, yeah, lonely that's for sure And the older ones are coughing Yeah, the older ones they're dying Maybe we're all dying I pass a graveyard on my way to work Today I saw two dozen white roses on a fresh new mound of dirt And I wondered about the occupant When the darkness finally swallowed him was he calm and content? Or was he sweating in a struggle to keep breathing Ripping apart the sheets that dressed his bed Crying out loud for someone to help him Then collapsing on his back all pale and dead Maybe it's me who's this unstable Always obsessed about the end Why can't I let what happens happen And just enjoy the time I spend? Oh, how I wish it was that easy But when there is no point to anything You know it gets a bit confusing Why it is that I keep going Why is it that we keep going? |
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