No party she’d not attend, no invitation she wouldn’t send —
transfixed by Sunday Comics and your promise to be found.
Rotating head, keeps on the right side/Colied up and tense remains on the lookout/They hate to read The Star’s Sunday Comics/Rotating head tries to look on the bright side of things
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy working overtime/A soap impression of his wife which he ate and donated to the National Trust/I need a fix because I’m going down, the Sunday Comics I left uptown.
Todo es mentira en este mundo. Todo es mentira la verdad.
Todo es mentira, Sunday Comics. Todo es mentira,
por qué será. Esperando la última ola; esperando la última rola. ¡Arriba los Comics, o-e-a!s
Sunday Comics — not what you’ve been sold. Congo square is open for business! I was there, as god is my witness.
There’s a monkey in the jungle watching a vapor trail, caught up in the conflict between its brain and its tail. And if it’s Sunday
Comics, then we got nothing to lose! Please repeat the message: It’s the comix that we choose
And she was lying in the grass. And she could hear the highway breathing. And she would read the Sunday Comics; she’s making sure she is not dreaming.
The bats have left the bell tower, the Comics have been read.
Spend Sundays in the black box:
Bela Lugosi’s dead.
No one in the world ever gets what they want, and that is beautiful; everybody dies reading Sunday Comics, and that is beautiful. They want what they’re not and I wish they would stop saying, “Deputy Dawg dog a ding ding debadeba.”