Light Pollution taby ukulele według Bright Eyes

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

G-D-Am-C (x2)

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