BRIGHT EYES - LIGHT POLLUTION

G		D
John A Hobson was a good man
Am		C
he used to loan me books and mic stands
G		D
he even got me a subscription 
Am		C
to the Socialist Review
G		D
listening to records in his basement
Am		C
old folk songs about the government
G		D
"it's love of money, not the market," 
Am		C
he said, "these fuckers push on you.
G		D
and freedom yells, it dont cry.
G		D
whatever sells will decide.
G		D
but there is no hell when you die.
	Am
so dont look so worried."
G		D
he got a night life, lost his day job
Am		C
pushing paper, swinging pendulums
G		D
anything to serve a function 
Am		C
or to occupy some time
G		D
you have got to earn this living somehow
Am		C
you are good as dead without a bank account
G		D
but it is funny how alive he felt down 
Am		C
in that unemployment line
G		D
with all the trash at his feet
G		D
the pools of piss in the street
G		D
all of that filthy empathy 
	Am
for the way we're feeling

G-D-Am-C (x2)

G		D
the billboards shade, the flags they wave
Am		C
the anthem was playing loud
G		D
the baseball game was letting out
Am		C
then all at once he saw the dust
G		D
and heard every tiny sound
Am		C
got in his truck and turned around
G		D
drove out through the crowd and the cops
Am		C
drove out past that center mall
G		D
drove out past that sickening sprawl
Am		C
out past that fenced in gold
G		D
and maybe he lost control 
G		D
fucking with the radio
G		D
but i bet the stars seemed so close 
	Am
at the end