I don't write poems drunk,
Drunken poems write me:
Within this hazlewood
Of less-than-goods,
I've arrived in style with clarity.

The stormy seas, the false pretentions,
The media, the Feds, all the deception.
The conformity of this seemingly miserable life.
Is unnecessary, I reject it.
I demand serenity, nothing less will suffice.

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
And I wish I was special
You're so ******' special
But I'm a creep, I'm a ******.
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 ******' special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep, I'm a ******.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
She's running out again,
She's running out
She's run run run run
Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so ******' special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep, I'm a ******,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't belong here.
Songwriters: Mike Hazlewood / Albert Hammond / Colin Greenwood / Jonathan Greenwood / Edward O'brien / Philip Selway / Thomas Yorke
Creep lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

Breathing spaces for sick
and elderly. S.C.U.B.A. by
Jacques Cousteau for Frog
-men. All I need is the air
that I breathe by Hammond
& Hazlewood of The Hollies.
Oxygen by John Williams.

   Why can't I breathe?  

                         ˚
                      o

            F l O y d

ps


Don't worry George we is
goin a put you on air boy!