Conor Oberst
A Machine Spiritual (In the People’s Key)
The People's Key ringing through arena seats
The black machine played it all from memory
A fever dream, well, I'll come back eventually
To wade into the water, another and another, we go

Form some kind of code
The bodies float
And form some kind of code
The bodies float
Someone is out to know

Papa Hobo, don't hide your eyes
Mother Mountain, don't kill your unborn child
His day is coming
His day is coming

A question burns beneath the centuries of dirt
That voice you've heard, well, every head's a different world
Where mine's concerned, I boarded up the windows
A catatonic plateau, a backwards, black-faced minstrel show

"So just let me go"
The prisoner moans
"Oh, just let me go"
The prisoner moans
"No one has to know"
Eva Braun went to dye her hair
Little Hitler sat in his giant's chair
And dreamed of nowhere
And dreamed of nowhere
And dreamed

The People's Key ringing, filling everything
The theme repeats, thinner than the galaxy
Impart to me your wisdom and eventually
I'll float into the ether, another from another, we grow

Form some kind of code
Of flesh and bone
We form some kind of code
Of flesh and bone
No, you're not alone

History bows and it steps aside
In the jungle, there's columns of purple light
We're starting over
We're starting over
We're starting
We're starting