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It's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways. |
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If I had any sense I'd maybe go away for a few days. |
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Be that as it may, I can only say I am lonely, |
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I am but a young girl, working my way through the phonies. |
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Coffee on, milk gone, a sad light by fading, |
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Myself I touch, but not too much, I hear it's degrading. |
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The flowers on my stockings are wilting away in the midnight. |
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The book I am reading is one man's opinion of moonlight. |
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My skin is so white, I'd like maybe to go to bed soon, |
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Closing my eyes, if I'm to rise up before noon. |
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High heels, car wheels, the losers are grooving. |
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My dream, strange seem images are moving. |
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My friends, they are making a pop star or two every evening. |
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I know that scene backwards, they can't see the patterns they're weaving. |
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My friends they are models but I soon got over that one. |
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I sit in my one room, a little brought-down in London. |
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Coffee on, milk gone, a sad light by fading, |
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Myself I touch, but not too much, I hear it's degrading. |
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La la la la la, la la la la la la la la la. |
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La la la la la, la la la la la la la la la. |
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La la la la, la la la la la ... |
