Sunday's creeping weeping pessimism is a creature of leisure
Conducting post-mortems of the universe with particular pleasure
I've tried to bar it from my flat, but it's too clever for that
Wrapped up in newspaper pages, it rages across the welcome mat
Or masquerades as clear fact and hangs out on a lamp-post
Slipping in through the car window, this parasite's found a host
An easy path to my couch, where it will deepen my slouch
Leach all positivity from the environment
Until I'm checking out all the visa requirements
Keep your hands on my eyes
'Cause if this plane goes down
It's a long way to the ground
Fill my ears with your sighs
Before the panic breaks loose
I'm a man with no parachute
So in an act of refuge, I forge a world without news
Your glorious curves form the axis around which it moves
Sweet smiles and leers make up the atmosphere
Keeping the air clear, denying neagtive fear
The dank rank conditions it needs to appear
But still, the deepest recesses of my brain
Where paranoia is mantained
Remain infected with the optimist's bane
Bulging black cocoons hanging in the mental gloom
Start crumbling when you leave the room
Depression's moths emerge in clouds of doom
Keep your hands on my eyes
'Cause if this plane goes down
It's a long way to the ground
Fill my ears with your sighs
Before the panic breaks loose
I'm a man with no parachute
Dreamers in silver tubes scream through the sky
Rolling and diving from flack that comes rising up
Out of the muzzles of venemous souls
Political fumbling, populist rumblings
Democracy's despots on thrones built of poverty
Clipping my wings with their destruction of honesty
Keep your hands on my eyes
'Cause if this plane goes down
It's a long way to the ground
Fill my ears with your sighs
Before the panic breaks loose
I'm a man with no parachute
Keep your hands on my eyes
'Cause if this plane goes down
It's a long way to the ground
Fill my ears with your sighs
Before the panic breaks loose
I'm a man with no parachute