Well, today there's no salvation,
The band's packed up and gone.
Left me standin' with my penny in my hand.

There's a big crowd at the station,
Where a blind man sings his songs.
He can see what I can't understand.


It's the thirty-third of August,
And I am finally touchin' down.

Eight days from Sunday, Lord.
Saturday bound.
Eight days from Sunday, Lord.

And I'm Saturday bound.

Once I stumbled through the darkness,

Tumbled to my knees,
A thousand voices screamin' through my brain.
Woke up in a squad car, busted down for vagrancy.

And outside my cell it sure as hell,
It looks like rain.


It's the thirty-third of August,
And I am finally touchin' down.
Eight days of Sunday,

Saturday bound.

[Vocal stylings.]


Now I've put my angry feelings,
Under lock and chain.

Hide my violent nature with a smile.
Though the demons dance and sing their songs,
Within my fevered brain,

Not all my God-like thoughts, Lord, are defiled.

And it's the thirty-third of August,

I am finally touching down.
Eight days from Sunday,
Saturday bound.


Eight days from Sunday, Lord.
And I'm Saturday bound.