Part of me knows you're absolutely right.

That's why "I drink to stay warm, and to kill selected memories"...

"& from the sidelines
you see me run
until i’m out of breath
living the good life
i left for dead
the sorrowful midwest
well i did my best
to keep my head"

not the best lyrics ever, but really nice imagery in that

all that empty space.

but once you knew a girl and you named her lover
danced with her in kitchens through the greenest summer
autumn came, she disappeared
you can't remember where she said she was going to
but you know that she is gone 'cause she left you a song
that you don't want to sing
singing I believe that lovers should be chained together
thrown into a fire with their songs and letters
left there to burn
left there to burn
in their arrogance
but as for me i'm coming to my final failure
killed myself with changes trying to make things better
ended up becoming something other than what I had planned to be

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
and 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 there’s no point to anything
you know it gets a bit confusing
why is it i keep going?
why is it that we keep going?

i believe that lovers should be tied together
& thrown into the ocean in the worst of weather
& left there to drown
left there to drown in their innocence
but as for me, i'm coming to the final chapter
i read all of the pages and there's still no answer
only all that was before I know must soon come after
that's the only way it can be

There is a cat in the window of the house of my lover
Well, she sleeps there alone now or perhaps with another
But I try not to think about that, I try not to think at all
I get cocaine from this girl I met and my brother buys me alcohol
And I stay up all night walking through these houses I have grown to hate
And my parents ask if I'm all right, I say, "I've just been staying up too late"
I need to sleep
I need to do something to get this awful weight up off my chest
And keep her pretty ghost from chasing me
You say there are spaces open and wide
You say there are days longer than nights
And I could be happy if only I'd try, but I don't try
I don't try
And you speak of a fever that burns you inside
As you explain to your mother how you have wanted to die
So she kisses your fingers and says, "My darling, but why?
When there is so much more, there is so much more
Do you know there are spaces open and wide?
Believe me, there are days longer than nights
And you will be happy the minute you try
So won't you try?
Won't you try?"

to Bright Eyes. This thread is tempting me, but I'll leave it a bit longer.

Touch, lying on the floor
Wishing this could last
But knowing that it can’t
And soon you will leave
And I will be on the floor
Watching the TV, trying hard to find a reason to move
I’m frozen in one place, staring at the screen
Listening to the rain falling on the street
Some days go on too long
And no one can hang out tonight
Here, where the carpet is cool and soft
Underneath the clock I feel my weary heart is put to rest
You gather around your friends
The connection that you feel when the night has not yet died
You are new with a promise of a love
You will probably never find
And touch that you can really feel
The brokenness inside as hope and less collide
Now nothing is real
(You are new and near now
To someone you used to love when you were young
When all was gold and you two touched
And felt the flutter underneath your skin
You stood in glowing rooms
The light dripping from both of you
And nothing since has felt as radiant or real)
And there is nothing more I want than just one night
That’s free of doubt and sadness
One night that I can really feel

Interviewer: Hi, we’re back. This is Radio ---x. We’re here with Conor Oberst of the band Bright Eyes. How are you doing, Conor?

Conor: Fine, thanks. Just a little wet.

Interviewer: Oh, it’s still coming down out there.

Conor: Yeah, I sorta had to run from the car.

Interviewer: Well, we are glad you made it. Now, your new album, Fevers and Mirrors, tell us a little bit about the title. I noticed there is a good deal of repeated imagery in the lyrics—fevers, mirrors, scales, clocks. Could you discuss some of this?

Conor: Sure, let’s see. The fever is—

Interviewer: First, first, let me say that this is a brilliant record, man. We’re really into it here at the station. We get a lot of calls it’s really good stuff.

Conor: Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Interviewer: So, talk a little bit about some of the symbolism.

Conor: The fever?

Interviewer: Sure.

Conor: Well, the fever is basically whatever ails you or oppresses you. It can be anything. In my case it’s my neurosis, my depression...but I don’t want to be limited to that. It’s certainly different for different people. It’s whatever keeps you up at night.

Interviewer: I see.

Conor: And the—and the mirror is like, as you might have guessed, self examination or reflection in whatever form. This could be vanity or self-loathing. I-I know I’m guilty of both.

Interviewer: That’s interesting. Uh, how ‘bout the scale?

Conor: The scale is essentially our attempt to solve our problems quantitatively, through logic or rationalization. In my opinion it’s often fruitless but, always—ah, not always. And the clocks and calendars, it’s just time, our little measurements. It’s always chasing after us.

Interviewer: It is, it is. Uh, how ‘bout this Arienette? How does she fit into all of this?

Conor: I prefer not to talk about it, in case she’s listening.

Interviewer: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she’s a real person.

Conor: She’s not. I made her up.

Interviewer: Oh, so she’s not real.

Conor: Just as real as you or I.

Interviewer: I don’t think I understand.

Conor: Neither do I, but after I grow up, I will, I mean—a lot—a lot of things are really unclear for me right now.

Interviewer: That’s interesting. Now, you mentioned your depression.

Conor: No I didn’t.

Interviewer: You’re from Nebraska right?

Conor: Yeah so.

Interviewer: Now let me know if I’m getting too personal, but it seems to me that there’s a pretty dark past back there somewhere. What was it like for you growing up?

Conor: Dark. Not really. Uh-actually, I had a great childhood. My parents were wonderful, I went to Catholic school. They had money so it was all…easy. But basically, I had everything I wanted handed to me.

Interviewer: Really. So some of the references like babies in bathtubs are not biographical?

Conor: Well, I did have a brother that died in a bathtub. Drowned. Actually, I had five brothers that died that way.

Interviewer: Tahuh.

Conor: No, I’m serious. My mother drowned one every year for five consecutive years. They were all named Padraic, so thats-they all got one song.

Interviewer: Hm.

Conor: It’s kind of like walking out a door and discovering it’s a window.

Interviewer: But your music is certainly very personal.

Conor: Of course. I put a lot of myself into what I do. But it’s like, being an author, you have to free yourself to use symbolism and allegory to reach your goal. And a-and a part of that is compassion, empathy for other people, and understanding their situations. So much of what I sing about comes from other people’s experiences as well as my own. It shouldn’t matter. The message is intended to be universal.

Interviewer: I see what you mean.

Conor: Can you make that sound stop please?

Interviewer: Yes. And your goal?

Conor: I don’t know. Uh, create feelings, I guess. A song it never ends up the way you plan it.

Interviewer: That’s funny you would say that. Do you think that—

Conor: Do you ever hear things that aren’t really there?

Interviewer: I’m sorry, what?

Conor: Nevermind. How long have you worked at this station?

Interviewer: Oh, just a few minutes. Now, you mentioned empathy for others. Would you say that that is what motivates you to make the music you make?

Conor: No, not really. It’s really just a need for sympathy. I want people to feel sorry for me. I like to feel the burn of the audience’s eyes on me when I’m whispering all my darkest secrets into the microphone.

(From the side, two teenage thugs start swearing about the music, talking over the conversation.)

Conor: When I was a kid I used to carry around this safety pin everywhere I went in my pocket and when people weren’t paying enough attention to me I’d dig it into my arm until I started crying. Everyone would stop what they were doing and ask me what was the matter. I guess I kind of liked that.

Interviewer: Really, you’re telling me you’re doing all this for attention?

Conor: No, I hate it when people look at me. I get nauseous. In fact, I could care less what people think about me. Do you feel alright? Do you wanna dance?

Interviewer: No, I’m feeling sick.

Conor: I really just want to be warm yellow light that pours all over everyone I love.

Interviewer: So, uh, you’re going to play something for us now. Is this a new song?

Conor: Yeah, but I haven’t written it yet. It’s one I’ve been meaning to write, called, “A Song to Pass the Time.”

Interviewer: Oh, that’s a nice title.

Conor: You should write your own scripts.

Interviewer: Yeah, I know.

well the future's got me worried
such awful thoughts
my head's a carousel of pictures
the spinning never stops
i just want someone to walk in front
and i'll follow the leader

like when i fell under the weight
of a schoolboy crush
started carrying her books
and doing lots of drugs
i almost forgot who i was
but i came to my senses

now i'm trying to be assertive
i'm making plans
going to rise to the occasion
meet all their demands
but all i do is just lay in bed
and hide under the covers

i know i should be brave
but i'm just too afraid of all this change

and it's too hard to focus
through all this doubt
i keep making these to-do lists
but nothing gets crossed out
working on the record seems pointless now
when the world ends, who's gonna hear it?

but i'm trying to take some comfort in written words
tim, i heard your album:
it's better than good
when we get off tour i think we should
hang and black out together

because i've been feeling sentimental
for days gone by
all the summers singing, drinking,
my friend wasting our time
remember all the songs and the way we smiled
in those basements made of music

but now i've got to crawl
to get anywhere at all
i'm not as strong as i thought

so when i'm lost in a crowd
i hope that you'll pick me out
how i long to be found
the grass grew high, i laid down
now i'm waiting for a hand
to lift me up
help me stand
i've been laying so low
don't want to lay here no more...

everything that happens is supposed to be
and it's all predetermined
can't change your destiny
guess i'll just keep moving
someday maybe i'll get to where i'm going

The city has sex with itself I suppose
as the concrete collides, while the scenery grows,
and the lonely once bandaged lay fully exposed
having undressed their wounds for each other.

And there's a boy in a basement with a four-track machine,
he's been strumming and screaming all night, down there.
The tape hiss will cover the words that he sings,
they say it's better to bury your sadness
in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to
awake from it's sleep and burst into green.

Well I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it
but the sadness just sleeps and it stays in my spine
for the rest of my life.

And I've learned and you'd think I'd be something more now
but it just goes to show it is not what you know
it is what you were thinking at the time.

This feeling's familiar, I've been here before.
In a kitchen this quiet I waited for a sign or
just something that might reassure me of
anything close to meaning or motion (with a reason to move).

I need something I want to be close to.
And I scream, but I still don't know why I do it,
because the sound never stays it just swells and decays,
so what is the point?
Why try to fight what is now so certain?
The truth is all that I am is a passing event that will be forgotten.

If you walk away, I'll walk away
First tell me which road you will take
I don't want to risk our paths crossing someday
So you walk that way, I'll walk this way

And the future hangs over heads
And it moves with each current event
Until it falls all around like a cold, steady rain
Just stay in when it's looking this way

And the moon's laying low in the sky
Forcing everything metal to shine
And the sidewalk holds diamonds like a jewelry store case
They argue, walk this way, no, walk this way

And Laura's asleep in my bed
As I'm leaving, she wakes up and says
"I dreamed you were carried away on the crest of a wave
Baby, don't go away, come here"

And there's kids playing guns in the street
And one's pointing his tree branch at me
And so I put my hands up, I say, "Enough is enough
If you walk away, I'll walk away"

And he shot me dead

I found a liquid cure from my landlocked blues
It would pass the way like a slow parade
It's leaving, but I don't know how soon

And the world's got me dizzy again
You think after twenty-two years I'd be used to the spin
And it only feels worse when I stay in one place
So I'm always pacing around or walking away

I keep drinking the ink from my pen
And I'm balancing history books up on my head
But it all boils down to one quotable phrase
"If you love something, give it away"

A good woman will pick you apart
A box full of suggestions for your possible heart
But you may be offended, and you may be afraid
But don't walk away, don't walk away

We made love on the living room floor
With the noise in the background from a televised war
And in that deafening pleasure, I thought I heard someone say
"If we walk away, they walk away"

But greed is a bottomless pit
And our freedom's a joke, we're just taking a piss
And the whole world must watch the sad comic display
If you're still free, start running away

Because we're coming for you!

I've grown tired of holding this pose
I feel more like a stranger each time I come home
So I'm making a deal with the devils of fame
Saying, "Let me walk away, please"

You'll be free, child, once you have died
From the shackles of language and measurable time
And then we can trade places, play musical graves
Until then walk away, walk away, walk away

So I'm up at dawn
Putting on my shoes
I just want to make a clean escape
I'm leaving, but I dont know where to
I know I'm leaving, but I dont know where to

You can save FACE, but you can never, save your soul, AND THAT'S A FACT!"

Fucking incredible.

liqour for blood in an attempt to tip the scales etc.

*insert text from faked radio show*

go conor!

Today I walked through the snow and found a field of headstones
They were in rows like the weeks on calendars
Where each box is a day that you can ever escape
Without pills for your poisonous sleep

These memories leak from these faucets that weep
Hot tears splash against the shower floor
And I stand in the steam as if inside a dream
I can see her again by the sink

all of The Calendar Hung Itself.

Pretty good actually, from the live bootlegs...
Going back to "I'm Wide Awake..." imagery and music...

i REALLY like Cassadaga.
not as much as I'm Wide Awake or Lifted.
but still.
it's really good.
better than most other people could make.
thanks.
'cleanse song' is wonderful.

"Many lifetimes have passed in a instant reminded
Of a millstone house in a seaside town
When your heart gave out in a mission bed"

You said you could be my dream I could have you every night
And if by morning, I'd forgotten you, well no big deal, that'd be alright
'Cause you're the reoccurring kind
You are the reoccurring kind

the one i always go for is

because the truth is that gossip
is as good as gospel in this town
and so on

That just won't go away, it's been stuck there since it came a few nights ago.
And I'm standing on a bridge, in the town where I lived as a kid, with my mom and my brothers.
And then the bridge disappears and I'm standing on air, with NOTHING, holding me.
And I hang like a star, FUCKING GLOW-IN-THE-DARK, for all the starving eyes to see - like the ones we've wished on.

Oh shit I'd forgotten how amazing that song is.