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The Thirty-third Of August (Newbury Mickey)

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.