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Sorry, but Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) is hands down the best lyric writer I've ever heard. Say what you want about the guy, but he's motherfucking brilliant.
I raise my glass to symmetry
To the second hand and its accuracy
To the actual size of everything
The desert is the sand
You can't hold it in your hand
It won't bow to your demands
There's no difference you can make
There's no difference you can make
And if it seems like an accident
A collage of senselessness
You weren't looking hard enough
I wasn't looking hard enough at it
An argument for consciousness
The instinct of the blind insect
Who makes love to the flower bed
And dies in the first freeze
Oh I want to learn such simple things
No politics, no history
Till what I want and what I need
Can finally be the same
The arc of time, the stench of sex
The innocence you can't protect
Each quarter note, each marble step
Walk up and down that lonely treble clef
Each wanting the next one
Each wanting the next one to arrive
An argument for consciousness
The instinct of the blind insect
Who never thinks
Not to accept its fate, that's faith
There is happiness in death
You get to the next one
You get to the next one down the line
The levity of longing that
Distills each dream inside my head
By morning watered down forget
On silver stars I wish and wish and wish
From one to the next one
From one to the next right down the line
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