It's a simple number on paper, but the beauty in the composition of 'Let Down' is found both in Greenwood's lush, shimmering guitar arpeggios that surround the rambling's of a very disappointed and, for lack of a better term, let down Thom Yorke.

The vocal melody is repetitive and sluggish, and the song features a rather stagnant bridge.

In theory, 'Let Down' shouldn't work as a song. A very important moment of silence follows this track, one that serves as a pallet cleanser in between a song so sinister and the most elegant, tear-inducing track Radiohead has ever written.

The second verse of 'Exit Music' brings the song to a brutal climax as Thom slides up to his high register and wails over a distorted wall of synthesizers. 'Exit Music (For a Film)' starts just as calm as the aforementioned songs, as Yorke mumbles over a few soft chords, but a droning mellotron warns the listener that something much bigger is soon to come. The final section of the song slowly descends through a solitary acoustic guitar and choral mellotron, before one final stanza of Yorke's cynical imagery ends with a mocking promise that 'God loves his children,' and the song erupts into one last guitar-driven explosion. After a few clam measures of acoustic guitar and further taunting lyrics, the song brings itself to an abrupt halt as Yorke sneer's 'Off with his head, man!' Jonny Greenwood then cuts through with a tremolo guitar riff that staggers, gains speed and promptly brings the section to an end. The song begins with a vibrant, suspenseful acoustic guitar accompanied by Jonny Greenwood's flanger pedal, setting a satirical mood as Yorke rambles on about the 'unborn chicken voices' in his head, and later threatens obnoxious listeners with execution before the song breaks down into its progressive middle section. The otherworldly tone of 'Airbag' quickly turns more introspective, sarcastic and obscure with the album's leading single and second track, 'Paranoid Android.' Taking influence from the lacing together of several small songs on The Beatle's 'Happiness is a Warm Gun,' and Yorke's observations of uncouth people acting up in public bars, the song fashions itself as a triple-sectioned journey through the mind of a disturbed, delusional Thom Yorke and the ramblings of a pissed-off supercomputer.

Ok computer radiohead timeless