Every Sunday night's the same
The day we can't shake off
And as we hoped for some exciting change
We heard the loudest bomb
I tried to call as soon as I found out
But all the lines were jammed
And so I thought it best to go back to
Making my dinner plans
Making my dinner plans
There could be flying saucers in the sky
A thousand planes ahead
As long as they don't feel too close, we can
Pretend that they're not there
We are good people, we could really care
With time, this feeling's turned into a deep despair
Every Sunday night's the same
And so we say our prayers
There could be flying saucers in the sky
A thousand planes ahead
A raging fire burning everything
Everyone in their beds
And for a minute we would stop and we'd
Think of the world in shreds
But soon enough these thoughts dissolve back to
A simple itch instead
Every Sunday night's the same
Every Sunday night's the same
(Flying saucers in my head)
Every Sunday night's the same
(Flying saucers in my head)
Every Sunday night's the same
(Flying saucers in my head)
(Flying saucers in my head)
(Flying saucers in my head)