Tuesday, July 18, 2006

creep


When you were here before,
couldn't look you in the eye.
You're just like an angel,
your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather,
in a beautiful world
I wish I was special,
you're so fucking special.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

I don't care if it hurts,
I want to have control.
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul.
I want you to notice,
when I'm not around.
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?.
I don't belong here



She's running out the door,
she's running,
she run, run, run, run, run.



Whatever makes you happy,
whatever you want.
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special,



but I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here,
I don't belong here.

Creep © 1993, Thom Yorke

5 Comments:

Blogger NotSoccer Mom said...

OMG that's perfect! thanks for the chuckle, sad though it is.

1:15 PM  
Blogger Thursday Next said...

So perfect!

7:42 PM  
Blogger Lyssa Strada said...

Thank you, Mark, for bringing your laterally-connecting brain to Lyssa Strada's pages.

11:29 PM  
Blogger mark h said...

Thanks y'all.

7:06 AM  
Blogger Karen M said...

Perhaps we now understand why GWB keeps mangling the pronunciation of her name. He just can't get this song out of his mind either.

8:00 AM  

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