1977 and we are going mad 
 It's 1977 and we've seen too many ads 
 1977 and we're gonna show them all 
 That apathy's a drag 

 My mind is like a plastic bag 
 That corresponds to all those ads 
 It sucks up all [bad word] 
 That is fed in through by ear
 I eat Kleenex for breakfast
 And use soft hygienic Weetabix 
 To dry my tears 

 My mind is like a switchboard 
 With crossed and tangled lines 
 Contented with confusion 
 That is plugged into my head 
 I don't know what's going on
 It's the operator's job, not mine
 I said 

 My dreams I daren't remember 
 Or tell you what I've seen 
 I've dreamt that I was Hitler 
 [bad word] of the sea 
 [bad word] of the universe
 [bad word] of the supermarket 
 And even fatalistic me