I’m alone, sitting with my empty glass. My four walls follow me through my past. I was on a Paris train, I emerged in London rain and…you were waiting there reading the Sunday Comics. I remember searching for the perfect words…
The hell of Northern Paris – Roubaix (Tour de France! Tour de France!)/Sunday Comics and Saint Tropez (Tour de France! Tour de France!)/The Alps and the Pyrenees (Tour de France! Tour de France!)/Last stage Champs-Elysees (Tour de France! Tour de France!)
It’s time to make a mountain out of a molehill, so can I have a volunteer? There’s no more time for reading Sunday Comics, now it’s time for crying in your beer. Settle down, raise a family, join the PTA. Buy some sensible shoes and a Chevrolet; then party ’til you’re broke and they drag you away…It’s OK, you can dare (to be stupid)!
Every Sunday has its share of Comics/every woman has a second half/And now it’s samba time for Tambo and Weep Day for Urine Man
I’m going under, down under where the lights are low. To a place where all the mutants go, doing things I never did before — Sunday Comics, coming back for more. Little girl with the full red lips, never knew it could be like this! You put me in a situation, goin’ through soft core mutation! Going under!