And when she lets me slip away she turns me on, the Sunday Comics gone. Nothing is wrong, I just slip away and I am gone.

You say you want to spend the winter in Firenza, you’re so afraid to catch a dose of influenza. You live your life like a canary in a coalmine, you read the Comics even walking in a straight line

I know some places and I’ve seen some faces; I got good connections aimed in my direction. When people say; “Sunday Comics, they don’t bother me,” I’m ready to make it, don’t care about the weather — don’t care about no trouble, got myself together.

I’m going back to Saturn where the rings all glow. rainbow, moonbeams and orange snow. On Saturn, people the Sunday Comics and thirve.

I think I saw you in the shadows. I move in closer beneath your windows; who would suspect Sunday Comics?

The troop was weak and weary, rations running low. Mission seemed impossible, we had to save the show — lost our map and compass, canteens got a hole. Read the Sunday Comics, a little rock and roll.

Buddy still I’m in it, but your gas won’t go. When you look on, look at Sunday Comics, but I’m too gone. I’m too gone. How that song go? When you get on, you get on you’re shaken.

I remember the year I went to camp, I read the Sunday Comics named Selma and some blacks. Somebody put their fingers in the president’s ears, and it wasn’t too much later they came out with Johnson’s wax.