Sunday, March 16, 2003

Alright, you've had your intellectual reprieve. Now let me pull out my acoustic and play a little poem. If Thom Yorke went to Scripps:

Lock me up
Throw away the key
Nothing's come over me
Something's come over me.

Crush them one at a time
But they breed like rabbits
Breed like rabbits
And they'll fill you up with
Blinding car lights and
This big this big
They're like ticks
They won't wash out.

Lowest ever prices on nothing
Gee it's foggy in here
Gee it's foggy in here
But there's blinding lights outside
And my neighbors want to hurt me
Curl up in my living room
Feel not want not

Tell me when to laugh.


Hell, I'm laughing.

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