Vārdi: Bright Eyes. June On The West Coast.

I spent a week drinking the sunlight of Winnetka, California,
where they understand the weight of human hearts.
You see sorrow gets too heavy and joy it tends to hold you with the fear that it eventually departs.
And the truth is I've been dreaming of some tired, tranquil place
where the weather won't get trapped inside my bones.
And if all these years of searching find one sympathetic face then it's there
I'll plant these seeds and make my home.
It's been a day dreaming of dying in Mesa, Arizona,
where all the green of life had turned to ash.
And I felt I was on fire with the things I could have told you,
I guess I just assumed that you eventually would ask.
And I wouldn't have to bring up my so badly broken heart and all those months I just wanted to sleep.
The spring, it did come slowly,
I guess it did its part,
my heart has thawed and continues to beat.

And I visited my brother on the outskirts of Olympia where the forest and the water become one.
And we talked about our childhood,
like a dream we were convinced of,
that perfect peaceful street that we came from.
And I know he heard me strumming all those sad and simple chords
as I sat inside my room so long ago.
And it hurts that he's still shaking from those secrets
that were told by a car closed up too tight and a heart turned cold.

I went to San Diego and the birthplace of the summer and watched the ocean dance under the moon.
There was a girl I knew there, one more potential lover,
I guess that something's got to happen soon.
Cause I know I can't keep living in this dead or dying dream.
And as I walked along the beach and drank with her,
I thought about my true love,
the one I really need,
with eyes that burn so bright they make me pure.

They make me pure, they make me pure, I long to be with you.
They make me pure, they make me pure, I long to be with you.