I Might Be Wrong

There is an unsettling groove at the heart of this track — a choppy, repetitive guitar figure that sounds almost like a malfunction, a circuit stuck in a loop it cannot escape. The rhythm section locks in with mechanical precision, yet the whole thing breathes with a kind of nervous energy, like an animal pacing in a confined space. Thom Yorke's voice arrives detached and observational, floating above the noise rather than driving it, his delivery hushed and inward before the song occasionally erupts into something rawer and more desperate. Lyrically the song circles around denial and self-delusion — someone who suspects the worst about themselves but keeps deferring the moment of reckoning, perhaps forever. It emerged from the *Amnesiac* sessions, that period where Radiohead were deliberately dismantling rock structure and rebuilding it from stranger materials: jazz shadows, post-punk angularity, electronic pulse. This is a song for the small hours of the morning when something in your life isn't working and you know it but keep doing it anyway — driving the same stretch of road at 2am, watching the same thoughts scroll past without resolution. The tension never quite breaks. That is the point.