Waste of Paint

Bright Eyes

I have a friend, he's mostly made of pain 
He wakes up, drives to work and straight back home again 
He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper 
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover 
And I tried to tell him he had a sense 
Of color and composition so magnificent 
And he said, "Thank you, please, 
But your flattery, 
It's truly not becoming me, 
Your eyes are poor, you're blind you see, 
No beauty could have come from me 
I'm a waste 
Of breath, of space, of time." 

I knew a woman, she was dignified and true 
Her love for her man was one of her many virtues 
Until one day she found out that he had lied 
And decided the rest of her life from that point on would be a lie 
She was grateful for everything that had happened 
And she was anxious for all that would come next 
But then she wept, what did you expect 
In that big old house with the car she kept 
And such is life she often said 
With one day leading to the next 
You get a little closer to your death 
Which was fine with her, she never got upset 
And with all the days she may have left 
She would never clean another mess 
Or fold his shirts or look her best 
She was free 
To waste away alone 

Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove 
And this cop he pulled him off to the side of the road 
And he said, "Officer, officer, you've got the wrong man, 
No no, I'm a student of medicine, a son of a banker, you don't understand." 
The cop said, "No one got hurt, you should be thankful, 
And your carelessness, it is something awful 
And no, I can't just let you go 
And though your father's name is known 
You decisions now are yours alone 
You're nothing but a stepping stone 
On a path 
To debt, to loss, to shame." 

The last few months I've been living with this couple 
Yeah, you know the kind who buy everything in doubles 
Yeah, they fit together like a puzzle 
I love their love, and I am thankful 
That someone actually receives the prize that was promised 
By all those fairy tales that drugged us 
And still to me, I'm sick, lonely 
No laurel tree, just green envy 
Will my number come up eventually 
Like love's some kind of lottery 
Where you scratch and see what's underneath 
It's sorry, just one cherry 
I'll play again, get lucky 

So now I hang out down by the train's depot 
No, I don't ride, I just sit and watch the people there 
The remind me of windup cars in motion 
The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions 
And I want to scream out that it all is nonsense 
And their life's one track and can't they see it's pointless 
But just then my knees give under me 
My head feels weak and suddenly 
It's clear to see it's not them but me 
Who's lost my self-identity 
And I hide behind these books I read 
While scribbling my poetry 
Like art could save a wretch like me 
Some ideal ideology 
That no one could hope to achieve 
And I'm never real, it's just a sketch of me 
And everything I've made is trite and cheap 
And a waste 
Of paint, of tape, of time 

So I park my car down by the cathedral 
Where the floodlights point up at the steeples 
Choir practice is filling up with people 
I hear the sound escaping as an echo 
Sloping off the ceiling at an angle 
When the voices blend they sound like angels 
I hope there's some room still in the middle 
But when I lift my voice up now to reach them 
The range is too high way up in heaven 
So I hold my tongue, forget the song 
Tie my shoes, start walking off 
And try to just keep moving on 
With my broken heart and my absent god 
And I have no faith but it's all I want 
To be loved, and believe 
In my soul, in my soul

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