Arcade Blues - Neon Indian

Lonely consolations from the TV screen and for the things unseen

Pixelled consolations don’t know what they bring but it’s not empathy

Dream from palpitations your ideas fade, they begin to stray

But you can always make it up along the way from what you meant to say

Pointless excitation from the cluttered sounds where the voices drown

Morbid fascination insulates your brain, it becomes unwound

If only this were real you’d see it clear as day, not some other way

Terrible electric daydreams oozing through the ground, you are never found

Take me from this arcade blues

I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do

Take these hands, let me loose

Something else to do, find something else to do