Crowded House, that is rather unsettling, please stop it.
Here is a fact that you can take to the bank. Now, the teller is probably going to say something stupid like, “I am sorry, Mr. Smith, you cannot deposit that.”
If they do, you should tell them, “Mr. Smith is my father’s name. Call me Cam.”
Then ask to speak to the manager. The manager might kick up a stink. Just calmly explain to him that, as a customer, you are right. If he still won’t accept this fact, well good. I am glad you are having a bad time of it because I am fairly sure you are trying to steal my identity. Anyway, here is the fact:
Crowded House are creepy as fuck.
Take, for example, the song Fall At Your Feet and these particularly creepy lyrics:
“I’m really close tonight, and I feel like I’m moving inside her.”
Bit creepy, Crowded House. Why not move into a semi-detached townhouse? Or a bungalow?
And then there’s Don’t Dream It’s Over.
Don’t dream WHAT’S over, Neil Finn? Your hobo-killing spree?