And I hide behind these books I read while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me with some ideal ideology that no one could hope to achieve. And I’m never real, it’s just a sketch of me. And everything I’ve made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.
Conor OberstAbout author
- Author's profession: Musician
- Nationality: american
- Born: February 15, 1980