Альбом Bright Eyes

"So long, everything," he shouted, then he ran next door to Margot's house.
"I'm moving," he said.
"Where," asked Margot.
"Two weeks away," said Mitchell.
"Where is that," asked Margot.
"It's everywhere. I will be after I walk for two weeks," said Mitchell. "I have
lived in the same place for a long time. It is time for me to go some place
else."
"No," said Margot, "you have only lived next door for fifteen years."
"Sixteen," said Mitchell.
"Fifteen, six, what's the difference," said Margot. "I want you to stay next
door forever."
"I can't," said Mitchell. "I do not want to go wake up in the same old bedroom
and eat breakfast in the same old kitchen. Every room in my house is the some
old room because I have been there too long."
You turn on a spindle, you're so much looser now but you're not explaining how
you've gained such new repose. I touch the clasp of your locket with its picture
held, some secret you wouldn't tell but let it choke your neck. So we imagine a
darkness where all shapes divide, solids changing into light with a burst of
heat so bright. Well fine, don't you do what I want you to, don't degrade
yourself the way that I do, cause you don't depend upon all the shit that I use
to make my moods improve.

"And you look at me and think 'same old face, same old tail, same old scale,
same old walk, same old talk," said Margot.
"No," said Mitchell, "I like your face, tail, scale, walk and talk."
"I like you."
"I like you too," said Mitchell. He walked to the door. "I must pack," he said.


Near a sea of pianos, there were waves of chords that crashed against the shore
in one huge and useless roar. And there were girls bringing water, like a dream
they came to cool the fever of my brain and soothe my burning throat. And they
made me a necklace, hanging beads of sweat on a string of my regrets and placed
it round my neck. They were singing don't you do what you've wanted to, don't
destroy yourself like those cowards do. Maybe the sun keeps coming up because

Here's a scale, weigh it out, and you'll find easily more than sufficient doubt, that these colors you see were picked in advance by some careful hand, with an absolute concept of beauty. They are smeared and these blurs come in random order, and they'll color the eyes of your former lovers, hers were green like July, except when she cried, they were red.
Now I know a disease that these doctors can't treat, you contract on the day, you accept all you see is a mirror and a mirror is all it can be, a reflection of something we're missing. And language just happened, it was never planned, and it's inadequate to describe where I am, in the room of my house where the light's never been, waiting for this day to end.

And these clocks keep on winding and completely ignore, everything we hate or adore. Once the page of a calendar is turned it's no more, so tell me then what was it for?

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning
when you start to raise your head?
And does he sing to you, incessantly,
from the space between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at school
with his feet inside your shoes?
Looking down every few steps
to pretend he walks with you?

Oh, does he know that place below your neck
that's your favorite to be touched?
And does he cry through broken sentences like,
"I love you far too much"?

Does he lay awake listening to your breath?
Worried you smoke too many cigarettes?
Is he coughing now?
On a bathroom floor?
For every speck of tile
There's a thousand more
You won't ever see
But most hold inside yourself
Eternally

Well, I drug your ghost across the country
And we plotted out my death
In every city, memories would whisper
Here is where you rest

I was determined in Chicago
But I dug my teeth into my knees
And I settled for a telephone
Sang into your machine

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine

And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw
That her father gave to her
She had eyes bright enough to burn me
They reminded me of yours

And in a story told, she was a little girl
In a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
And there were rows of ripe tomatoes
Where a secret was concealed

And it rose like thunder
Clapped under our hands
And it stretched for centuries
To a diary entry's end
Where I wrote

You make me happy
Oh, when skies are gray
You make me happy
Oh, when skies are gray and gray and gray

Well the clock's heart it hangs
Inside its open chest
With its hands stretched towards
The calendar hanging itself
But I will not weep
For those dying days
For all the ones who've left
There's a few that stayed
And they found me here
And pulled me from the grass

Now and again, it seems worse than it is
But mostly the view is accurate
You see your breath in the air as you climb up the stairs
To that coffin that you call your apartment
And you sink in your chair, brush the snow from your hair
And drink the cold away
And you're not really sure what you're doing this for
But you need something to fill up the days
A few more hours

There's a dream in my brain 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'll hang like a star, fucking glow in the dark
For all the starving eyes to see
Like the ones we've wished on

Well now I'm confused, is this death really you
And do these dreams have any meaning?
No, I think it's more like a ghost that's been following us both
Something vague that we're not seeing

You follow the footsteps
Echoes leading down the hall
To a room, there's music playing
Tiny bells with moving parts
Here the shadows make things ugly
An effect quite undesirable
And the bold and yellow daylight
Grows like ivy across the walls

And it bounces off of the painted porcelain
A tiny dancing doll
Her body spins as she pirouettes again
The world suddenly seems small

On a off white, subtle morning
You stretch your legs in the front seat
And the road has made a vacuum
Where our voices used to be
And you lay your head onto my shoulder
Pour like water over me

So if I just exist for the next ten minutes
Of this drive, that will be fine
And all these trees that line this curb
Would be rejoicing and alive

Soon all the joy that pours from everything
Makes fountains of your eyes
Because you finally understand the movement

The fragile keep secrets
Gathered in pockets
And they will sell them for nothing
A cheap watch or locket
That kind of gold washes off
And the sad act like lepers
They stick to the shadows
They long to ring bells of warning
To tell of their coming
So that the pure can shut their doors

And the angry are animals
Senseless and savage
They act without order
In logical lapses
They stain their mouths with blood

So take my hand
This barren land is alive tonight
Oh, the corn has grown stalks
That form a wall to hide
But the wind carries sounds
That I can't see from beyond that line
Then the stalks begin to sway
Oh, stay with me, Arienette
Until the wolves are away

The wicked are vultures
And they bake in the canyons
They circle in sunlight
And wait for their victims
To collapse and call to them

And the desperate are water
They'll run down forever
And they soak into silence
And end up together
In a dark and distant, dark and distant place

So don't leave me here
With only mirrors watching me
This house, it holds nothing
But the memories
And the moon, it leaves silver
But never sleeps
And then the silver turns to gray
Oh stay with me, Arienette

Tomorrow when I wake up I'm finding my brother, and I'm making him take me back
down to the water, that lake where we sailed, and we laughed with our father. I
will not desert him, I will not desert him. No matter how I may wish for a
coffin so clean, or these trees to undress all their leaves onto me, I put my
face in the dirt, and then finally I'll see the sky that has been avoiding me.

I started this letter, I'm gonna send it to Ruba, it will be blessed by her eyes
on the Gulf Coast of Florida. With her feet in the sand and one hand on her
swimsuit, she will recite the prayer of my pen. Saying time take us forward,
relief from this longing, they can land that plane on my heart, I don't care.
Just give me November, the warmth of a whisper in the freezing darkness of my
room.

No matter what I would do in an attempt to replace all these pills that I take
trying to balance my brain, I've seen the curious girl with that look on her

The phone slips from a loose grip
Words were missed then some apology
I didn't want to tell you this
No it's just some guys
She's been hanging out with
Oh I don't know
The past couple of weeks I guess
Thank you and hang up the phone
Let the funeral start
Hear the casket close, let's pin
Split-black ribbon to your overcoat

Well laughter pours from under doors
In this house, I don't
Understand that sound no more
It seems artificial like a T.V. set

Haligh, Haligh, Haligh, Haligh
This weight it must be satisfied
You offer only one reply
You know not what you do

But you tear and tear your hair from roots
From that same head you've twice removed
A lock of hair you said would prove
Our love would never die
Well, ha ha ha!

But I remember everything
The words we spoke on freezing South Street
And all those mornings watching you
Get ready for school

You combed your hair inside that mirror
The one you painted blue and glued with jewelry tears
Something about those bright colors
Will always made you feel better

But now we speak with ruined tongues
And the words we say
Aren't meant for anyone
It's just a mumbled sentence to
A passing acquaintance
But there was once you..

You said you hate my suffering
And you understood
And you'd take care of me
You would always be there
Well where are you now?

Haligh, Haligh, Haligh, Haligh
The plans were never finalized
But left to hang like yarn and twine
Dangling before my eyes

As you tear and tear your hair from roots
That same head you have twice removed
A lock of hair you said would prove
Our love would never die

As I sing and sing of awful things
The pleasure that my sadness brings
And my fingers press onto the strings
You get another clumsy chord

Haligh, Haligh, an awful lie
This weight will now be satisfied
I wanna give you only one reply
I know not who I am

But I talk in the mirror
To the stranger that appears
Our conversations are circles
And always one sided
Nothing is clear

Except we keep coming back
To this meaning that I lack
He says the choices were given
And now we must live them
Or just not live...

At the center of the world
There is a statue of a girl
She is standing near a well
With a bucket bare and dry
I went and looked her in the eyes
And she turned me into sand
This clumsy form that I despise
It scattered easy in her hand

And came to rest upon a beach
With a million others there
We sat and waited for the sea
To stretch out so that we could disappear

Into the endlessness of blue
Into the horror of the truth
Yes, we are far less than we knew
Yeah, we are far less than we knew!

But we knew what we could taste
Girls found honey to drench our hands
The men cut marble to mark our graves
Said we'll need something to remind us
Of all the sweetness that has passed through us
(fresh sangria and lemon tea)
The priests dressed children for a choir
(white robed small voices praise him)
But found no joy in what was sung
The funeral had begun

In the middle of the day
When you drive home to your place
From that job that makes you sleep
Back to the thoughts that keep you awake

Long after night has come to claim
Any life that still remains
In the corner of the frame
That you put around her face

Two pills just weren't enough
The alarm clock's going off
But you're not waking up
This isn't happening happening happening happening

Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
Swiftly go the days
Sunrise, sunset, you wake up then you undress
It always is the same
A sunrise and a sunset
You are lying while you confess
Keep trying to explain
The sunrise and the sun sets
You realize and then you forget
What you have been trying to retain

But everybody knows it's all about the things that get stuck inside of your
head. Like the songs your roommate sings or a vision of her body, as she
stretches out on your bed. She raised her hands in the air, and asked you when
was the last time you looked in the mirror, because you've changed, yeah you've
changed.

Sunrise, sunset
You're hopeful then you regret
The circle never breaks
With each sunrise and sunset
There is a change of heart or address
Is there nothing that remains?

For a sunrise or a sunset
You are manic or you're depressed
Will you ever feel ok?
For a sunrise and sunset
Your lover is an actress
Did you really think she'd stay?
For a sunrise and sunset
You're either coming or you just left
But you're always on the way
Towards a sunrise or a sunset
A scribble or a sonnet
They are really just the same
To the sunrise and the sunset
The master and his servant
Have exactly the same fate
It's a sunrise and a sunset
From a cradle to a casket
There's no way to escape
The sunrise and the sunset
Hold your sadness like a puppet
Keep putting on the play

But everything you do is leading to the point, where you just won't know what to
do. And at that moment you may laugh, but there is someone there, who will be
laughing louder than you. So it's true, the trick is complete, you've become
everything you said you never would be. You're a fool! You're a fool!

Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
The sunrise and the sunset
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
The sunrise and the sunset

Sunrise, sunset
Go home to your apartment
And put the cassette in the tape deck
And let that fever play

Sunrise, sunset
Where are you Arienette?

Did you expect it all to stop at the wave of your hand, like the sun's just
gonna drop ,if it's night you demand? Well in the dark we're just air, so the
house might dissolve, once we're gone, who's gonna care, if we were ever here at
all? Well summer's gonna come, it's gonna cloud our eyes again, no need to focus
when there's nothing that's worth seeing.
So we trade liquor for blood in an attempt to tip the scales, I think you lost
what you loved in that mess of details. They seemed so important at the time.
Now you can't even recall any names, faces or lines, it's more the feeling of it
all. Well winter's gonna end, I'm gonna clean these veins again. So close to
dying that I finally can start living.

"Hi, we're back. This is Radio [beep] and we're here with Conor Oberst of the
band Bright Eyes. How are you doing, Conor?"

"Fine, thanks...just a little wet."

"Oh, it's still coming down out there?"

"Yeah, I sort of had to run from the car."

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

"Sure, let's see... The fever is..."

"First, let me say that this is a brilliant record man. We're all really into it
here at the station, we get lots of calls. It's really good stuff."

"Thanks, thanks a lot."

"So talk a little bit about some of the symbolism."

"The fever?"

"Sure."

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

"I see!"

"And the mirror is, as you might have guessed, self examination or reflection in
whatever form. It could be vanity or self loathing. I know, I'm guilty of both."

"That's interesting. How about the scale?"

"The scale is essentially our attempt to solve our problems quantitatively,
through logic or rationalization. In my opinion, it's often fruitless, but
always... well, not always. The clocks and calendars, it's just... time. Our
little measurements. It's always chasing after us."

"It is, it is... How about this Arienette? How does she fit into all of this?"

"I'd prefer not talk about it, in case she's listening."

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize she was a real person."

"She's not. I made her up."

"Oh, so she's not real?"

"Just as real as you or I."

"I don't think I understand."

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

"That's interesting. Now you mentioned your depression."

"No, I didn't."

"You're from Nebraska, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Now let me know, if I'm getting too personal but there seems to be a pretty
dark past back there somewhere. What was it like for you growing up?"

"Dark? Not really. Actually I had a great childhood, my parents were wonderful.
I went to a Catholic school. They had one, so it... was all easy. Basically I
had everything I wanted, anytime."

"Really? So some of the references like babies in bathtubs are not
biographical?"

"Well, I did have a brother who died in a bathtub... drowned. Actually, I had
five brothers who died that way. No, I'm serious. My mother drowned one every
year for five consecutive years. They were all named Padraic. So they all got
one song. It's kind of like walking out a door to discover it's a window."

"But a lot of your music is certainly very personal."

"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 part of that is compassion and empathy for other people and their situations.
Some 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."

"I see what you mean."

"Can you make that sound stop please?"

"Yes. And your goal?"

"I don't know... Er, create feelings, I guess. A song, it never ends up the way
you planned it."

"It's funny you would say that, do you think that...?"

"Do you ever hear things that aren't really there?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Never mind. How long have you worked at this station?"

"Just a few minutes. Now, you mentioned empathy for others, would you say that
is what motivates you to make the music that you make?"

"No, not really. It's more a need for sympathy. I want people to feel sorry for
me. I like to feel the burn of the audiences eyes on me, when I'm whispering all
my darkest secrets into the microphone. When I was a kid, I used to carry this
safety pin around with me, 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 to
cry. Everyone would stop what they were doing and ask me what was the matter. I
guess I kind of liked that."

"Really? You're telling me you're doing all this for attention?"

"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 that way?"

"No, I'm feeling sick."

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

"So, you're going to play something for us now. Is this a new song?"

"Yeah, but I haven't written it yet. It's one I've been meaning to write...
called A Song to Pass the Time."

"Oh, that's a nice title."

"No, it's not. You should write your own scripts."

There's a middle-aged woman, she is dragging her feet, she carries baskets of
clothes to a laundromat. While the Mexican children kick rocks into the street,
and they laugh in a language I don't understand. But I love them, why do I love
them?
Now the neighborhood's dimming, I smoke on the porch, watch the people as they
pass enclosed inside their cars. On their faces just anger or disappointment, I
start wishing there was something I could offer them, a consolation, what could
I offer them?

And they are sad in their suburbs, robots water the lawn. And everything they
have touched gets dusted spotless. And so they start to believe they've not
touched anything at all, and the cars in the driveway only multiply.

They are lost in their houses, I've heard them sing in the shower, making
speeches to their sister on the telephone. Saying you come home, woman you come
here, don't stay so far away from me. This weather has me wanting love more
tangible. Something I can hold, because it's getting cold.

I say let's hold up our fists to the flame in the sky, to block out the light
that's reaching for our eyes, cause it would blind us, yeah it will blind us.

Now I have locked my actions in the grooves of routine, so I may never be free
of this apathy. But I wait for a letter that's coming to me, she sends me
pictures of the ocean in an envelope. So there still is hope, yes I can be
healed, there is someone looking for what I've concealed. In my secret drawer
and my pockets deep, you will find the reasons that I can't sleep, and you will
still want me, will you still want me? Will you still want me...

Well I said come for the week, you can sleep in my bed, and pass through my life
like a dream through my head. It will, it will be easy. I'll make it easy. But
all I have for the moment is a song to pass the time, a melody to keep me from
worrying. Some simple progression to keep my fingers busy, and words that are
sure to come back to me. And they'll be laughing, yeah they'll be laughing... my