Las letras de Conor Oberst son;(no tengo un adjetivo que logre expresar la totalidad de lo que me provocan)

So there is this woman and she was on an airplane, and she's flying to meet her fiancé, sailing high above the largest ocean on planet earth, and she was seated next to this man, who, you know, she had tried to start conversations, and only, really the only thing she did heard him say was to order his Bloody Mary. And she's sitting there, and she's reading this really arduous magazine article about this third world country, that she couldn't even pronounce the name of, and she's feeling very bored and very despondent, and then uh, suddenly, there's this huge mechanical failure and one of the engines gave up, and they started just falling in thirty thousand feet, and the pilot's on the microphone and he's saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my God, I'm sorry," apologizing and, and she looks at the man and she says, she says "where are we going?" and he looks at her, and he says,
"we're going to a party, it's a birthday party. It's your birthday party, happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY much."

And then he starts humming this little tune and it kinda goes like this:
1-2, 1-2-3-4

We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues from the books that we have read
And to the face of every criminal strapped firmly in a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare

We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell
And in the ear of every anarchist, that sleeps but doesn't dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing

And it'll go like this:
While my mother waters plants, my father loads his gun
He says, "Death will give us back to God, just like the setting sun
is returned to the lonesome ocean"

And then they splashed into the deep blue sea
It was a wonderful splash

We must blend into the choir, sing a static with the whole
We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul
And to this endless race for property and privilege to be won
We must run, we must run, we must run

We must hang up in the belfry, where the bats in moonlight laugh
We must stare into a crystal ball, and only see the past
And in the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love
We must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge

And then we'll get down there,
Way down to the very bottom of everything
And then we'll see it
Oh we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it

Oh my morning's coming back, the whole world's waking up
Oh the city bus is swimming past, I'm happy just because
I found out I am really no one

El exceso de pena ríe;

el exceso de dicha llora.

William Blake (Proverbios del infierno)

Tomar vino
de tus bocas tintas