Quote:
|
Originally Posted by acousticrock87
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.
|
"Blue Angels Air Show" is my favourite;
Claire's turning blonde for the summer I guess
the sunlight just soaks into her hair
and she sits next to me on the motorboat
and shyly replies as to which boy she likes at her school.
so I am reminded of things I've forgotten.
the way doors can open and people just walk in.
it's not unexpected, no it's just how you planned it.
I'm beginning to think that it might never happen.
but now it is happening.
there's a show we can see at the base outside of town
where the planes they turn circles in the air.
I watch you stand next to me with your hand over your mouth
and join the crowds heavy gasp.
one for each time they pass overhead.
so we've been selected in this beautiful lottery.
we struggled so long but it ended so easy.
it's starting to surface, all golden and godlike
this feeling we had every day and every night.
it bursts in an energy. a door it is opening.
Also, you gotta love Tom Waits! A grand example is '9th and Hennepin';
Well it's Ninth and Hennepin
All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes
And the moon's teeth marks are on the sky
Like a tarp thrown all over this
And the broken umbrellas like dead birds
And the steam comes out of the grill
Like the whole goddamn town's ready to blow...
And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos
And everyone is behaving like dogs
And the horses are coming down Violin Road
And Dutch is dead on his feet
And all the rooms they smell like diesel
And you take on the dreams of the ones who have slept here
And I'm lost in the window, and I hide in the stairway
And I hang in the curtain, and I sleep in your hat...
And no one brings anything small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions
And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear
One for every year he's away, she said
Such a crumbling beauty, ah
There's nothing wrong with her that a hundred dollars won't fix
She has that razor sadness that only gets worse
With the clang and the thunder of the Southern Pacific going by
And the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet
til you're full of rag water and bitters and blue ruin
And you spill out over the side to anyone who will listen...
And I've seen it all, I've seen it all
Through the yellow windows of the evening train...