6.1.10

-

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.
And so a jury was formed
and 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 am leaving
on the next airplane.

And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify,
they seem adequate to fill up my time.
And if I could talk to myself like I was someone else
well then maybe I could take your advice.
And I wouldn't act 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 playwrights convene
dispensing their wisdom
oh dear amateur orators.
They will detail their pain
in some standard refrain
that 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 bus ride 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.
And now to me everything else,
it just sounds like a lie.

Bright Eyes - Going For The Gold

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