Every Sunday night's the same The day we can't shake off And as we hoped for some exciting change We heard the loudest bomb I tried to call as soon as I found out But all the lines were jammed And so I thought it best to go back to Making my dinner plans Making my dinner plans There could be flying saucers in the sky A thousand planes ahead As long as they don't feel too close, we can Pretend that they're not there We are good people, we could really care With time, this feeling's turned into a deep despair Every Sunday night's the same And so we say our prayers There could be flying saucers in the sky A thousand planes ahead A raging fire burning everything Everyone in their beds And for a minute we would stop and we'd Think of the world in shreds But soon enough these thoughts dissolve back to A simple itch instead Every Sunday night's the same Every Sunday night's the same (Flying saucers in my head) Every Sunday night's the same (Flying saucers in my head) Every Sunday night's the same (Flying saucers in my head) (Flying saucers in my head) (Flying saucers in my head)