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

Some velvet morning when I'm straight
I'm gonna open up your gate
And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra
And how she gave me life
And how she made it end
Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Flowers growing on a hill
Dragonflies and daffodils
Learn from us very much
Look at us, but do not touch
Phaedra is my name

Some velvet morning when I'm straight
I'm gonna open up your gate
And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra
And how she gave me life
And how she made it end
Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Flowers are the things we know
Secrets are the things we grow
Learn from us very much
Look at us, but do not touch
Phaedra is my name

Some velvet morning when I'm straight
Flowers growing on a hill
I'm gonna open up your gate
Dragonflies and daffodils
And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra
Learn from us very much
And how she gave me life
Look at us, but do not touch

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!