Steeped inside the dormant pipe of fishermen
It was always near
Kept out of the light, the bulbs were listening
In a forlorn fear

I won't explain this, I will regret this
It's just a matter of taste
You will expect this on every next list
This must have been the place

The heads of home affairs and psalms all disagree
On the better way
To get rid of those plaguing strokes of wizardry
And relieve the state

No good intention well worth the mention
Why don't we call it quits
Let it invade us, worst comes to the worst
We'll learn some useful tricks

Let it invade us, put our beds on fire
Let it invade us, put our beds on fire
Let it invade us, put our beds on fire
Let it invade us, put our beds on fire

Steeped inside the dormant pipe of fishermen
It was always near
Kept out of the light, the bulbs were listening
In a forlorn fear