Tekster: Okkervil River. Unless It's Kicks.

What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man
Unless it's fiction
Unless it's sweat or it sogs

What hits against this cheat unless it's a sick man's hand
From some midlevel band
He's been driving too long
On a dark windless night
With the stereo on
With the towns flying by
And the ground getting soft
And the sound in the sky
Coming down from above
It surrounds you at times
And it's whispering, oh

What pulls your body down, that is quicksand
So, climb out quick, hand over hand
Before your mouth's all filled up

What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man
When I been fixed, I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again

And on a seven day high
That heavenly song
Punches right through my mind
And pumps through my blood

And I know it's a lie
But I'll still give my love
Hey, my heart's on the line
For your hands to pluck off

What gives this mess some grace unless it's fictions
Unless it's licks, man
Unless it's lies or it's love

What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan
Exploding up from the stands
With her heart opened up
And I want to tell her, "your love isn't lost"
Say, "my heart is still crossed"
Scream, "you're so wonderful"
What a dream in the dark
About working so hard
About glowing so stoned
Trying not to turn off
Trying not to believe in the lie on your own
La la la la
Ohhh oh ohh