About "Lifted Or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground" album:
This page contains lyrics from the album
"Lifted Or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground" by Bright Eyes, which was released in 2002 and consists of 6 songs.
On a string
On a string
On a string
I was held
The way I moved, can you tell
My actions are orchestrated from above
And so I swing and I sway
Wave my hand, kick my leg
And it's always right with the music
(katie and tiffany: till all that swaying starts to make you sick)
Laura are you still living there
On your estate of sorrow?
You used to leave it occasionally
But now you don't even bother
To ride the commuter train
West to Chicago,
To stroll through the greenery
In the park past the statues
How their eyes seemed to follow you
Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love And Be Loved)
Here we go. Can I get a goddamn timpany roll to start this goddamn song? Tonight it is a goddamn song, for all you goddamn people:
Well, the animals laugh from the dark of the wilderness. A baby cries hard in an apartment complex, as I pass in a car buried under the influence. The city's driving me out of my mind. Iâ€™ve seen a child, he's caught in the sad trap of gravity. He falls from the lowest branch of the apple tree and lands in the grass and weeps for his dignity. Next time he will not aim so high. Yeah, next time, neither will I. Now, a mother takes loans out, sends her kids off to colleges. Her familyâ€™s reduced to names on a shopping list. While, a coroner kneels beneath a great, wooden crucifix. He knows there's worse things than being alone. Iâ€™ve learned to retreat at the first sign of danger. I mean, why wait around, if it's just to surrender? An ambition, Iâ€™ve found, can lead only to failure. I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you.
Well, I stood dropping a coin into the pit of a well. And I would throw my whole billfold if I thought it would help. With all these wishes I make, I should buy something real, at least a telephone call home. Well, My teachers, they built this retaining wall memory, all those multiple choices I answered so quickly. And got my grades back and forgot just as easily, but at least I got an A. And so I don't have them to blame. Well, I should stop pointing fingers; reserve my judgment of all those public action figures, the cowboy presidents. So loud behind the bullhorn so proud they can't admit when they've made a mistake. While poison ink spews from a speechwriter's pen, he knows he don't have to say it, so it, it don't bother him. "Honesty" "Accuracy" is just "Popular Opinion." And the approval rating is high, and so someone's gonna die. Well, ABC, NBC, CBS: Bullshit. They give us fact or fiction? I guess an even split. And each new act of war is tonight's entertainment. We're still the pawns in their game. As they take eye for an eye until no one can see, we must stumble blindly forward, repeating history. Well, I guess we all fit into your slogan on that fast food marquee: Red blooded, White skinned oh and the Blues. Oh and the Blues! I got the Blues! That's me! That's me!
Well, I awoke in relief. My sheets and tubes were all tangled weak from whiskey and pills, in a Chicago hospital. And my father was there, in a chair by the window, staring so far away. I tried talking, just whispered, "...so sorry...so selfish.." He stopped me and said, "Child I love you regardless and there is nothing you could do that would ever change this. I'm not angry. It happens. But you just can't do it again." And so now I try to keep up, Iâ€™ve been exchanging my currency. While a million objects pass through my periphery. Now Iâ€™m rubbing my eyes cause theyâ€™re starting to bother me. Iâ€™ve been staring too long at the screen. But where was it when I first heard that sweet sound of humility? It came to my ears in the goddamn loveliest melody. How grateful I was then to be part of the mystery, to love and to be loved. Let's just hope that is enough.
(strange noises in the background)
Waste Of Paint
I have a friend, he is made mostly of pain. He wakes up, drives to work,
And then straight back home again. He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper.
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover.
And I tried to tell him he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent.
And he said "Thank you, please but your flattery is truly not becoming me.
Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have come from me.
I am a waste of breath, of space, of time."
I knew a woman, she was dignified and true. Her love for her man was one of her many virtues.
Until one day, she found out that he had lied and decided the rest of her life,
From that point on would be a lie. But she was grateful for everything that had happened.
You Will. You? Will. You? Will
Well, you say that I treat you like a book on a shelf
I don't take you out that often 'cause I know that I completed you
And that's why you are here, that's the reason you stay here
How awful that must feel
You said you would be my dream, I could have you every night
And if by morning, I'd forgotten you, well, no big deal, that'd be all right
'Cause you're the reoccurring kind, you are the reoccurring kind
You never really leave my mind
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