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if i were a planet and Thom Yorke were the sun, id be orbiting him, and very gradually be sucked in by his gravitational pull. i am on a slow track to my demise of submitting my body into a fiery orb. each day, each rotation of my Self, i grow warmer. my oceans grow vaster and swallow the poor continents. each minute of my existence, i look on to the sun that is Thom Yorke and i am forced to reckon with my fate. how did i get here? how has the universe been formed just so that i orbit this awful, horrid, yet captivating and enchanting sun of a man? with his flames roaring! the songs they roar... o, the galaxies i could have been a part of!
yet it was fated as such.
yes, i accept my demise as his light flickers on my surface, so evenly and calculated, yet perfectly raw. his wild movements, the bobbing of his hair; it is the warmth that will make the wait not so treacherous.
each day grows warmer....

....please dont take that too seriously. here, i have a dream avi:

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