Lyrics:

What's that sound?
Like an aeroplane coming down,
Like every banshee in every hill,
Uniting in one diabolical yell,
They said we're eight miles down,
And we're eight miles down,
We don't know much,
But we know what we like,
A particular chord,
When you strike it just right.

This is the brain,
It's the centre of all our pain,
Where every banshee in every hill,
Is uniting in one diabolical yell,
They said we're eight miles down,
And we're eight miles down,
We don't know much,
But we know what we like,
A particular chord,
When you strike it just right.

We've been here all along,
We sing our lonely song,
First in on every sigh,
Lions and tigers and bears oh my.

Stop making a stand,
(turn it up, turn it up)
Take matters in hand,
(turn it up, turn it up)
We've sung the first hit already,
Flip it over again.
(turn it up, turn it up)

We're eight miles down,
We're eight miles down,
We don't know much,
But me we know what we like,
A particular chord,
When you strike it just right.

First in on every sigh,
Lions and tigers and bears oh my.

Stop making a stand,
(turn it up, turn it up)
Take matters in hand,
(turn it up, turn it up)
We've sung the first hit already,
Flip it over again,
(turn it up, turn it up)
(turn it up, turn in up, turn it up!)

Stop making a stand,
(turn it up, turn it up)
Take matters in hand,
(turn it up, turn it up)
Here we are at the end already,
Flip it over again.
(turn it up, turn it up)
(turn it up, turn it up, turn it.)