Portable Television - Death Cab for Cutie, Benjamin Gibbard, Christopher Walla

Portable television, shrouded in snow

In a raggedy van on the side of the road

The night it had frozen through my little bones

So, you took me in your arms, you squeezed out the cold

And oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Upstate New York, autumn, brightly colored leaves

Oh, the hills were on fire, they burn for you and me

And where we were going, it was built like a lie

But as sacred as the Bible, so we didn’t question why

And oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

I saw it in the soil just recently

Where the rows of teeth, they grow in fields of infinite greed

And here laid the father, and here stood the son

Where the road meets the horizon for everyone

For everyone

Portable television, take us away

From this burden of reflection we’ve carried today

Oh, the generator’s running but there’s nothing on the air

And the static is a comfort, so we huddle around and stare

And oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh