Analyse By Thom Yorke (From The Prestige)
A self-fulfilling prophecy
Of endless possibility
In rolling reams across a screen
In algebra, in algebra
The fences that you cannot climb
The sentences that do not rhyme
In all that you can ever change
The one you’re looking for
It gets you down, it gets you down
There’s no spark
No light in the dark
It gets you down, it gets you down
You traveled far
What have you found
That there’s no time
There’s no time
To analyse
To think things through
To make sense
Like candles in the city
They never looked so pretty
By power cuts and blackouts
Sleeping like babies
It gets you down, it gets you down
You’re just playing a part
You’re just playing a part
You’re playing a part
Playing a part
And there’s no time
There’s no time
To analyse
Analyse
Analyse
Analyse
