Thom Yorke

A self-fulfilling prophecy of endless possibility
You roll in reams across the street
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