With our fingers we make million holes
|
We run and we fall into pot holes
|
on a mission to savor the world, oh!
|
We peek at the sky through tree holes
|
|
Comet - oh damn it!
|
The comet comes hurtling down
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On a precious plot of earth
|
|
Like the bugs in mother's flower bed
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We walk on long legs over the sea bed
|
On our mission to save the world, oh!
|
We need milk and cakes and a warm bed
|
|
Comet - oh damn it!
|
The comet comes hurtling down
|
On a precious plot of earth
|
|
Grey leaves are too much
|
for any mother to handle
|
|
A father must pull
|
his black hat down over the eyes
|
|
-----------------
|
The Comet Song
|
| Bjork |
