220. Analyse - Thom Yorke

A self-fulfilling prophecy of endless possibility
In rolling reams across a screen
In algebra, in algebra

In fences that you cannot climb
In 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

By candles in the city
They never looked so pretty
By powercuts 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

But there's no time
There's no time
To analyse
Analyse