Been out all night
I needed a bite
I thought I'd put a record on
I reached for the one with the ultra-modern label
And wondered where the light had gone
It had a futuristic cover lifted straight from Buck Rogers
The record was so black, it had to be a con
The autochanger switched as I filled my sandwich
And futuristic sounds warbled off and on
The Black Hit of Space
It's the one without a face
It's the hit that doesn't fit
You can only see the flip
The Black Hit of Space
Sucking in the human race
How can it stay at the top when it's swallowed all the shops?
As the song climbed the charts, the others disappeared 'til
there was nothing but it left to buy
It got to Number One, then into minus figures
Though nobody could understand why
The Black Hit of Space
It's the one without a face
It's the hit that doesn't fit
You can only see the flip
The Black Hit of Space
Sucking in the human race
How can it stay at the top when it's swallowed all the shops?
I couldn't stand this bland sound anymore, so I walked towards
my deck to turn it off
All I could see was the b-side of the disc, which had assumed
a doughnut shape with the label on the outside rim
I reached for the arm, which was less than one micron long but
weighed more than Saturn
And time stood still
I knew I had to escape, but every time I tried to flee, the
record was in front of me
The Black Hit of Space
Get James Burke on the case
It's the hit that's never gone
Time stops when you put it... (on)
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