| Build us a vehicle
|
| Set us a course
|
| Pick up your sickle
|
| Get on board
|
| We’re all going on a trip out
|
| We’re all going on a trip out
|
| We’re all getting, all getting out
|
| Out with the daggers
|
| Off with the gloves
|
| There is so much
|
| That you can loath
|
| And I can’t stop thinking about it
|
| And I can’t stop working it out
|
| It doesn’t come much bigger than this
|
| You see a point and you make a wish
|
| Everything tragic
|
| Take it away
|
| One fine day before the apocalypse
|
| And I know it’s not impossible
|
| From a hill top
|
| Worn out short grass
|
| I don’t know how long it can last
|
| Up then toward the see saw
|
| Up then toward the gibberish
|
| Up then toward being a bore
|
| Up then toward the apocalypse
|
| Build us a vehicle
|
| Set us a course
|
| Pick up your sickle
|
| Get on board
|
| Lonely are the brave
|
| There is a chance
|
| Of happiness
|
| Yeah, but it is over so fast
|
| And I can’t stop thinking about it
|
| And I can’t stop working it out
|
| No la dee da
|
| No picnickers
|
| Just party, party in a tweety land
|
| How long, how long, how long?
|
| One fine day before the apocalypse
|
| And I know it’s not impossible
|
| From a hill top
|
| Worn out short grass
|
| I don’t know how long it can last
|
| Up then toward the see saw
|
| Up then toward the gibberish
|
| Up then toward being a bore
|
| Up then toward the apocalypse |