drop of ink on a yellow leaf, 
Blows up a tank on a page-less book. 
I see a shrine of their shameless belief, 
Swallowed whole by a [bad word] crook. 

And I'm not time, not doing time, for a gaunt clue stuck in the sky. 
And I'm not time, not doing time, not doing time. 

We're saving up for Sundays, 
That's when the [bad word] out and sing, 
Following the sundown, 
Happy to see the [bad word] again. 
(Again) we hide the wide smile, 
That's 'cause our teeth don't like the air. 
Hurry through the wild spot, 
Happy to see the [bad word] again. 

And we're still saving up for Sundays, 
That's when the owl came out to play, 
Following the sun-down, 
Happy to see the [bad word] again. 
(Again) we hide the sad smile, 
That's because our teeth don't like the air. 
We hurry through the wild spots, 
Happy to see the [bad word] again.