Gossamer Thin Songtext
von 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