Taylor Swift,

whose lyrics are studied by scholars,
may well be on her way
to win the Nobel prize for poetry –
to judge from the unbelievable quality
of the song below :
well below anything by Bob Dylan.

Lucky You

There's a little girl in this little town

With a little too much heart to go around.

"Live forever. Never say never.

You can do better," that's what she says.

Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night.

A rabbit foot in her pocket. She dances in spite

Of the fact that she's different,

And yet she's the same.

And she says, "Do do do..."

Lucky you, lucky you

She sings her little song. She walks along

A little pathway headed for the skies.

Left to travels, lives they unravel.

"Mind over matter," that's what she says.

Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night.

A rabbit foot in her pocket. She dances in spite

Of the fact that she's different,

And yet she's the same.

And she says, "Do do do..."

Lucky you, lucky you, lucky you.

Maybe she'll sing you "Do do do do."

Maybe she'll bring you up to the skies.

Honey, she'll love you. Funny how some view

Angels above you ain't so far away.

Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night.

A rabbit foot in her pocket. She dances in spite

Of the fact that she's different,

And yet she's the same.

And she says, "Do do do..."

Lucky you, lucky you.

I mourn the decline and demise of the late-Victorian
and Edwardian popular (often music-hall) song
some of whose melodies are haunting and beautiful,
and whose lyrics are highly literate, often very socially aware.  They were also eminently singable at home around the piano. Originally, money earned came from the sheet-music.
Some great songs 'boosted morale' and even encouraged enlistment in the Boer and First World wars.  Here is an unsentimental example.