I’d like to flush the demons from out of her mind



I’d like to flush the demons from out of her mind

I’d like to rescue her from unicyclists

Come on, come on, come on, come on

Come on, begone, futon, begone

Beyond the brook of eastern sages lies a stream



A growing trend for people nowadays to say

"Don’t let my funeral be morose in any way"

I, I, I, I, I will always hate them

I ask you now please

Rock of Ages Cleft For Me



The forty-third brown sign today

Tells me I could be on my way

To England’s crudest water wheel

I’d rather take the bridleway

The one you turned down yesterday

To be with he who rules the roost at barbeques



Too many psychopaths

Not enough cycle paths

Too many psychopaths

Not enough cycle paths