Текст песни BIG SPECIAL - DOMESTIC BLISS.

Sisyphus, on the way back down
Is he yawning or screaming
It’s a heads-down kinda town

Passed out or dreaming?
What are the dreams of a rodent
Say what ya want about him
But that’s a man in the fuckin moment

Hands like a pan shovel
All squeak no bubble
Shoes like business
Face like trouble

Set your boots by the door, lad
And welcome to the struggle
I can feel the pain in your hips
Can see it cookin when you’re dancin

We’re not there yet
But we’ve passed a joke
It's hanging on ya lips
It softens with a toke

It’s the rod that keeps you standing
This way to domestic bliss
Just follow the smoke

Back on the street
In the pit of familiar beasts
Ain’t it all just astronomy?
We just need our stars to align to find our feet

Oh right
But I thought astronomy was a sandwich meat?
The belly of life growled and made a sandwich out of me
God burped
And sent us back to savagery

Vomit up a galaxy
If I get there, I’ll be glad for every struggle
But if I don’t
Then I guess it's another soap opera tragedy

Ugh! Late to start, argue the toss
One must imagine Sisyphus with a cramp!
No moss on me, boss
But it smells a bit like damp

They’ll still load me into the setting sun
For something I did
Or that I haven’t done
I’m not the first nor the only one
The stone of virtue weighs a tonne
I’m goin' for a walk
No, I don’t wanna talk about it
I think before I am

Reality just ain’t that believable
I’m young after my time
Just wanna watch my cartoons and eat chocolate cereal