Testo: Conor Oberst. Other. Where Pilgrims Disappear.

Hair blowing in the hot wind,
time hanging from a clothespin.
There's no sorrow that the sun's not gonna heal.
I smell the leather of your new car,
drive through the desert after nightfall.
Sleep on the shoulder, keep the stars all to ourselves.

The kind of love that makes my back hurt;
Wearin' nothing but a t-shirt.
She's turning over on a mattress made of air.
I close my eyes, I see a staircase,
leading upwards into blank space.
All of creation makes a sound too soft to hear.

So I remain between her legs,
sheltered from all my fears.
While bikers glide by highway shrines,
where pilgrims disappear.

Know that trouble's been your good friend.
Catch your company on the weekend.
Catch your company even once your mind was made.
You said, 'It's over and it's finished.'
And a headache's all you left with.
We're no different: I've got debts I'd like to pay.

We should move to Sausalito,
Living's easy on a house boat.
Let the motion rock us back and forth to sleep.
And in the morning when the sun rise
Look in the water, see the blue sky.
As if heaven has been laid there at our feet.
So we remain between these waves,
sheltered for all our years.
While bikers glide by highway shrines,
Where pilgrims disappear.
Where time takes icebergs,
Where fields burn westward,
Where pilgrims disappear.