Lyrics

Verse 1

Oddriana walks in with a vape and a stare,
Tells you about trauma like it’s part of her hair.
Says “I love horror,” but can’t name a thing,
Steals all her takes from Rachel — the genre queen.

Got a part-time job where the popcorn pops,
But only chats with high school kids between the mop.
She’s got fibromyalgia (allegedly),
Mostly ‘cause she skipped out on seeing an M.D.

⸻

Chorus

🎵 Odd-ri-a-naaaaaaa…
They got pronouns and a dream,
But their fiction reads like Reddit with a broken theme.
🎵 Odd-ri-a-naaaaaaa…
They’re a werewolf bard of pain,
Hope Robert Eggers gets it right — or punches them in the brain.
Or… somewhere below the brain.

⸻

Verse 2

She once worked bookshelves at Books-a-Million,
Assistant by title, but barely civilian.
Never read a book, not even one,
But says “Hemingway was gay” — for fun.

Dropped a hardcover on her own foot,
Quit mid-shift to chase a tarot root.
Magic tricks that always fail,
But insists she’s a wizard of the sacred veil.

⸻

Bridge (slow & dramatic)

They write about werewolves who fall in love with trees,
In paragraph blocks that stretch past your knees.
No proofreaders allowed, it kills the “vibe,”
Grammar’s just violence from the literate tribe.

Loves Rachel deep, but it’s never said,
Instead talks about their aura or what Freud might’ve read.
Selfish as the moon on a cloudless night,
Oddriana’s truth? “I’m always right.”

⸻

Final Chorus

🎵 Odd-ri-a-naaaaaaa…
They got vibes and spells to cast,
But their podcast sounds like it was edited… last.
🎵 Odd-ri-a-naaaaaaa…
They’re a haunted kind of storm,
And they say Hemingway’s repressed — that’s their norm.

🎵 Odd-ri-a-naaaaaaa…
Wears a cloak in ninety degrees,
Thinks ghosts are real and gender’s cheese.
Wants Eggers to direct, or destroy them instead —
Punch to the face, or somewhere vaguely misread.

⸻

Outro (whispered/spoken with faint acoustic strums)

“Do you think Eggers would cast me?”
No, but he might punch you.
In the face.
Or the vagina.
And you’d blog about it.