11.04.01-12:13 a.m.>

there is a car parked where the block begins

and there are people singing praises

say it's all because of him

and there is a bird perched on a frayed wet wire

and his voice sings out for a lover

but its 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 are all fucking alone

and we don't know what we are doing

maybe just buying us some hope

because we know that we are lonely

yeah, lonely that's for sure

and the older ones are coughing

and the older ones are dying

maybe we are 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

and collapsing on his back all pale and dead

maybe it's me(e) 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 so easy

but when there is no point to anything it can get a bit confusing

why is that i keep going?

why is that we keep going?

-Bright Eyes

*thank you Jeffy's away message last night for reminding me of my love for Conor Oberst