FR
As mentioned a couple of days ago, today marks the fourth anniversary of the French edition of this blog with nearly 208,000 visitors and some 1,038 posts to date (almost double with the English edition) — and still plenty to say! A huge THANK YOU to my devoted readers. Since I couldn't repeat the birthday cake cliché (even if it's this month's theme, literally or otherwise) nor serve you the same old creeps again (stale pastries don't taste good), let's celebrate greatly and as we may with the awesome track (and accompanying video) which inspired the title of this summertime series. And for fun, I've also included an early draft of the lyrics written by Thom Yorke from the sketchbook included with the outrageously expensive collector boxset of the recent remastered reeissue of OK Computer released by Radiohead on their indie label (which, thanks goodness, I did not buy).
Paranoid Android
Please could you stop the noise, I'm trying to get some rest
From all the unborn chicken voices in my head
What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)
What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)
When I am king, you will be first against the wall
With your opinion which is of no consequence at all
What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)
What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)
Ambition makes you look pretty ugly
Kicking, squealing Gucci little piggy
You don't remember... You don't remember...
Why don't you remember my name?
Off with his head, man! Off with his head, man!
Why don't you remember my name?
I guess he does...
Rain down, rain down,
Come on rain down on me
From a great height... From a great height, height...
Rain down, rain down,
Come on, rain down on me
From a great height... From a great height...
Rain down, rain down
(that's it, sir, you're leaving, the crackle of pigskin)
Come on rain down on me
(the dust and the screaming, the yuppies networking)
From a great height
(the panic, the vomit, the panic, the vomit)
God loves his children
God loves his children, yeah
Alternative lyrics
Mealy-mouthed bitchy little boys, playground bullies,
Intent on your supremacy and your valiant battle of shitty spiteful words,
Tearing each other's hair out and spitting reconstitued bullshit that nobody wants to hear,
Living out Lester Bang's misguided rock'n'roll bullshit dream like sad rain-coated red-faced perverts,
Living life on the edge of a glass of lager and your pathetic opinions which are of no consequence,
Your opinion is of no consequence...
Your opinion is of no consequence!
Waving your blunt little swords and declaring an invasion,
Fighting amongst yourselves because there's nothing else to write about.
Your stunning insights into your precious out-of-date youth culture,
Your puerile obsession with the voice of youth in the midst of your midlife crises,
Your precious little planet of indie middle class retro shitpop,
Your opinion is of no consequence!
Your are out of touch,
Neurotic pathetic battery-farmed evil little idiots who have no guts.
Failed writer, failed musician, failed person... you know who you are.
You know this is about you telling me I just can't take a joke.
I can't take a joke!
But you see honey,
You're the joke...
You're the joke...
You're the joke...
All this would be of no consequence but now you've hurt the ones I love
So now I declare war on you.
Telling me I cannot take a joke:
Wrong, you're the joke...
I didn't mean it,
I was only joking but you can't take the joke
So now you're the joke.
© Thom Yorke, 1997
© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.
No comments:
Post a Comment