This is the calendar These are the dates You know you'll be, you won't know what you'll see The routes might change so all that remains Is the pull from
They're taking pictures of the man from God I hope his cassock's clean The burden of being our holy fellas Your halo'd better gleam, better gleam What
Snared about her winsome glance And mad about the town Kicking heels has lost its charm and every boy's a clown Leave a trail of dusted boots and choose
I saw prayers being made with, plastic rosaries. Carpets laid, no thought for furniture. All the dogs are lying down, All the dogs are lying. All the
She wore lines from the senses Her ancestors gave her And broke both her arms In the honour of industry And though people wept At the picture of helplessness
Shore to shore, got some land between Island life is living from a cup of broken queens Hit the jackpot rolling through a pipe dream in a knot And I'm