It was the seventh night of summer, they fell down into town.
Though, they never landed, they never hit the ground.

Shark was the captain, Shark drove the tank.
Invented the rules when they gave him his name.
Ignoring his orders, Tuna, Willie and Barb
fall towards the glass to see what we are.

Tuna says, ‘man, he’s lookin’ at you.’
Shark smiles, ‘Guitar’s in there just cooking some stew.
Preparing to sing ‘happy birthday to you.”
Noodle, in the corner, knew exactly what to do.

They always fall around.
Reflections of faces.
They never hit the ground.
Ignore the orders.
Seventh night of summer.
They’re falling through faces.

Shark’s less than impressed, he wants to be king.
Willie, down near Noodle – ‘will they ever see me?’
Barb watches Willie score high across the board.
Four float above a shell and a peanut on the floor.

Noodlehead, silent and trained to end.
Blends with the background, he was never their friend.
Pays them no mind, simple life in a shell.
Scraping the bottom before raising some hell.

The deep end of the bottom and a new destiny.
It was the seventh night of summer when Noodle broke free.

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