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There he's sitting in his cockpit |
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Out on guard, ten thousand miles from home, yeah |
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Looking through his little window |
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Earth appears as God's blue magic dome |
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Just a little bit disturbing, yeah |
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Are those colored spaceships closing in |
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Star invasion |
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From behind the sun |
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Destination |
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Straight into his face |
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Seven years they taught and told him |
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What to do and how to act right now, yeah |
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He would have to push a button |
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In his panic, he just don't know how |
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Seems like there's no red alert no more and |
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And so that squirrel wasn't there before |
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Star invasion |
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From behind the sun |
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Complication |
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Say what can be done, done, done? |
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Near to a thousand-eight squirrels |
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Beam aboard and say hello |
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Puke and shit his control board |
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Dematerialize and steer their ships away from earth |
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Star invasion |
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Praise the Lord, they're gone |
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Mere pollution |
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Cleaning ups, no fun |
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Star invasion |
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First touch with a different kind |
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Ausser spesen nix gewesen |
