Little fishy flapping on a sand bank
Missing the days of his silver sheen
Not keen to flop and flip
At the hands of a giant pink godly creation
This fella earned his tiger stripes
Through years of constant evolving
Finely tuned the artist paints
As our giant peach is constantly revolving

Dying out

It's turning, it's churning
It's turning, grey

(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
Underground vacation
(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
With my blind alsatian
(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
Pale tinned food hunter
(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
Frail in my bunker
(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
We are all god's children
(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
Left in a hot car melting
When you squeeze a cloud and there's no rain
(Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me)
Dying out

When the gods push out their final blow
It'll be you who'll be swallowing all the snow

Without a sea there's not a tree, or you, or me

It's turning, it's churning
It's turning, grey

I am the last mackerel