There is a middle-aged woman, she's 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?
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?
So the neighborhood is dimming, I smoke on the porch
and watch the people as they pass enclosed inside their cars.
And 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 touch gets dusted spotless.
So they start to believe that they've not touched anything at all.
And the cars in the driveway only multiply.
Well, they are lost in their houses.
I've heard them sing in the shower
and making speeches to their sister on the telephone.
Saying, "You come home.
Darling, 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 said, hold up our fists to the flame in the sky
to block out the light that is reaching for our eyes
because it, because it would blind us. Yeah, It will blind us.
Well, 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 is 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 concealed in my secret drawer,
in my pockets deep,
you will find the reasons that I can’t sleep and you will still want me.
But will you still want me?
Well, I say come for the week.
You can sleep in my bed.
And then pass through my life like a dream through my head.
It will, it will be easy. I will make it easy.
But all I have for the moment is a song to pass the time.
Yeah, a melody to keep me from worrying.
Oh, some simple progression to keep my fingers busy.
And words that are sure to come back to me and they'll be laughing.
And they'll be laughing. My mediocrity. My mediocrity.
and watch the people as they pass enclosed inside their cars.
And 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 touch gets dusted spotless.
So they start to believe that they've not touched anything at all.
And the cars in the driveway only multiply.
Well, they are lost in their houses.
I've heard them sing in the shower
and making speeches to their sister on the telephone.
Saying, "You come home.
Darling, 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 said, hold up our fists to the flame in the sky
to block out the light that is reaching for our eyes
because it, because it would blind us. Yeah, It will blind us.
Well, 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 is 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 concealed in my secret drawer,
in my pockets deep,
you will find the reasons that I can’t sleep and you will still want me.
But will you still want me?
Well, I say come for the week.
You can sleep in my bed.
And then pass through my life like a dream through my head.
It will, it will be easy. I will make it easy.
But all I have for the moment is a song to pass the time.
Yeah, a melody to keep me from worrying.
Oh, some simple progression to keep my fingers busy.
And words that are sure to come back to me and they'll be laughing.
And they'll be laughing. My mediocrity. My mediocrity.
Is there a better way to describe the suburbs? Bright Eyes finds redemption from a girl who looks for what he is hiding. "you will find the reasons that I can’t sleep and you will still want me." But will she? He savors the melody that prevents him from worrying.
See the cry for meaning? Bright Eyes understands the human condition better than many scholars. Good music is art, art is expression of what we feel and and experience. If Jesus Christ is truly the answer, and if we are honest without ourselves, discovering who we are and how we're wired and what we want should unfailingly lead us straight to the gospel.
This means art and culture, even pop culture, is meaningful. Read the lyrics. I know I rarely read lyrics posted on other people's blogs, but try it for me.
Engage culture. Listen.
Why does he love the kids kicking rocks who have little material possessions? The language he doesn't understand, is he speaking of Spanish or does he not understand the "language" of real happiness? "on their faces just anger or disappointment," why would these people need consolation? What does it mean to be "lost in their houses"? What is the light? Why does he find hope because someone is searching his drawers, finding the things that keep him up at night, finding who he is? Why does he doubt she will want him afterwards? She can sleep in his bed, but why will she pass through like a dream? Why will he make it easy for her to merely pass by? Why does he need to occupy his mind? It's distraction - from what? He wrote about the suburbs, the emptiness, and the "words that are sure to come back." They'll come back laughing. Why? Is it an ironic laugh because the story of those in the suburbs is about him? His mediocrity? His disconnect and feeling that everything he touches, including his relationship with the girl, is dusted spotless till he starts to believe he hasn't touched anything at all?
