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Album: Miscellaneous (2007)
Artists: Bright Eyes

  1. A Celebration Upon Completion
  2. A Few Minutes On Friday
  3. A Line Allows Progress A Circle Does Not
  4. A New Arrangement
  5. A Perfect Sonnet
  6. A Poetic Retelling Of An Unfortunate Seduction
  7. A Scale, A Mirror, And Those Indifferent Clocks
  8. A Song To Pass The Time
  9. A Spindle A Darkness A Fever And A Necklace
  10. All Of The Truth
  11. An Attempt To Tip The Scales
  12. Arienette
  13. Contrast And Compare
  14. Drunk Kid Catholic
  15. Emily, Sing Something Sweet
  16. Exaltation On A Cool Kitchen Floor
  17. Falling Out Of Love At This Volume
  18. February Fifteenth
  19. Going For The Gold
  20. Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh
  21. How Many Lights Do You See?
  22. I Watched You Take Off
  23. I Will Be Grateful For This Day, I Will Be Gratefu
  24. I Won't Ever Be Happy Again
  25. I've Been Eating For You
  26. If Winter Ends
  27. June On The West Coast
  28. Kathy With A K's Song
  29. Lila
  30. Mirrors And Fevers
  31. Motion Sickness
  32. Neely O'hara
  33. Nothing Gets Crossed Out
  34. On My Way To Work
  35. One Straw (Please)
  36. Padraic My Prince
  37. Pit Viper *


Bright Eyes
Miscellaneous
Going For The Gold
There's a voice on the phone
telling what had happened,
some kind of confusion
more like a disaster.
And it wondered how you were left unaffected,
but you had no knowledge.
No, the chemicals covered you.
So a jury was formed
as more liquor was poured.
No need for conviction,
they're not thirsting for justice.
But I slept with the lies I keep inside my head.
I found out I was guilty.
I found out I was guilty.
But I won't be around for the sentencing,
cause I'm leaving
on the next airplane.
And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify
they seem adequate to fill up my time.
But if I could talk to myself
like I was someone else,
well then maybe I could take your advice,
and I wouldn't act like such an asshole all the time.

There's a film on the wall,
makes the people look small
who are sitting beside it,
all consumed in the drama.
They must return to their lives once the hero has died.
They will drive to the office
stopping somewhere for coffee,
where the folk singers, poets and playwrites convene,
dispensing their wisdom.
Oh dear amateur orator.

They will detail their pain
In some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
Like it's some kind of contest.
Well, if it is, I think I am winning it,
All beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold medal gleams
so hang it around my neck
cause I am deserving it:
the champion of idiots.

But a kid carries his walkman on that long busride
to Omaha.
I know a girl who cries when she practices violin.
Cause each note sounds so pure, it just cuts into her,
and then the melody comes pouring out her eyes.
Now to me, everything else, it just sounds like a lie.
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