Gossamer Thin - Conor Oberst

Rings 'round his eyes

Tracks down his arm

His fans are confused and his friends are alarmed

His wife doesn’t talk

Hates when he’s gone

Counts every skirt in his new entourage

And they’re all gossamer thin

Left of the dial, bohemians

And they dance tournament style

Twirl 'round the room, curtsey and smile

And they sit at his feet, read poetry

Swoon with each word he speaks

She likes the new pope

She’s not scared of hell

They meet once a week at a secret motel

She kisses his neck, she plays with his hair

Her screams sound like pleasure, her moans like despair

And they’re spread gossamer thin

Pushed to the edge, frayed at the ends

And it’s no business of mine

They can love more than one at a time

But they’re pushing their luck

Hard but they must

Risk it all for love

Now I walk around in some kind of altered state

The drink in my hand is starting to shake

I get used to it if it has to stay this way

A new bunch of flowers I’ll have to arrange

I don’t want to eat or get out of bed

Try to recall what the therapist said

Ego and Id, the Essential Self

You are who you are and you are someone else

But I’m worn gossamer thin

Like Delicate Arch, carved by the wind

There’s a glass psyche at stake

Throw me a brick, see if it breaks

'Cause the mind and the brain aren’t quite the same

But they both want out of this place