Who art in Twickenham
Hallowed be thy nose
The fingers strum, thy songs be done,
On Earth as they were in London.
Give us this day our daily records;
And send us some VIP passes,
As we forgave those with passes who arn't us.
Lead us not into the Lifehouse;
And deliver us from Psychoderelict.
For thine is the Boathouse, and the power chords, and the groupies.
For ever and ever.
Poem by Yellow
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Last Updated August 9, 2002
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