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

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

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

Writer : GIBBARD, BENJAMIN
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing