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In a coffee shop in a city |
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Which is every coffee shop in every city |
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On a day which is every day |
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I picked up the magazine |
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Which is every magazine |
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Read a story, then |
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I forgot it right away |
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And they say, "Goldfish have no memory" |
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I guess their lives are much like mine |
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And the little plastic castle |
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Is a surprise every time |
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And it's hard to say, if they're happy |
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But they don't seem much to mind |
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From the shape of your shaved head |
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I recognized your silhouette |
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As you walked out of the sun and sat down |
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And the sight of your sleepy smile |
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Eclipsed all the other people |
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As they paused to sneer at the two girls from out of town |
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I said, look at you this morning |
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You are, by far, the cutest |
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But be careful getting coffee |
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I think these people want to shoot us |
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Or maybe there's some kind of local competition here |
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To see who can be the rudest |
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And people talk about my image |
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Like I come in two dimensions |
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Like lipstick is a sign of my declining mind |
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Like what |
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I happen to be wearing |
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The day that someone takes a picture |
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Is my new statement for all of womankind |
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And I wish they could see us now |
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In leather bras and rubber shorts |
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Like some ridiculous new team uniform |
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For some ridiculous new sport |
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Quick someone call the girl police |
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And, and file a report |
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In a coffee shop in a city |
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Which is every coffee shop in every city |
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On a day which is every day |
