A Song About Me

Courtesy Thom Yorke, God bless his little marsupial self.

Cristi, again.

"What will grow crooked you can't make straight
It's the price that you've gotta pay
Do yourself a favour and pack you bags
Buy a ticket and get on the train

'Cause this is fucked up, fucked up

People get crushed like biscuit crumbs
And laid down in the bed you've made
You have tried your best to please everyone
But it just isn't happening
No, it just isn't happening

And that is fucked up, fucked up
Well this is fucked up, fucked up

This your blind spot, blind spot
It should be obvious, but it's not
But it isn't, but it isn't

You cannot kickstart a dead horse
You just cross yourself and walk away
I don't care what the future holds
'Cause i'm right here and I'm today
With your fingers you can touch me

I am your black swan, black swan
But I made it to the top
And this is fucked up, fucked up
Be a black swan, black swan
And for spare parts
We're broken up

You are fucked up
Fucked up
This is fucked up
Fucked up
We are black swans
Black swans
And for spare parts
We're broken up"