It’s almost Sunday, we should do as before: read Sunday Comics while we’re nude on the floor. It really would be the perfect end to our date — I love you, baby, but God wants us to wait.
Too fat! Fat you must cut lean — you got to take the Sunday Comics to the mezzanine, chump! Change, and it’s on, Super Bon Bon.
He claims I suffer from delusion, I’m so confident I’m sane. It can’t be no optical illusion. How can you explain Sunday Comics in the rain?
An open road where I can breathe, Sunday Comics are calling to me. I can pull myself back up, back down — stuck together like a ready-made.
No party she’d not attend, no invitation she wouldn’t send —
transfixed by Sunday Comics and your promise to be found.