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Neurotic intellectual |
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Emotionally unavailable |
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You're everything you think you should be |
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But the truth is unavoidable |
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And every choice intentional |
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Darling, I don't mean to be mean |
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But you're see-through as see-through can be |
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And when the party ends, you're sweating in sheets |
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The city has left you alone |
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You cycle on fast-forward through |
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The strangers in your phone |
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And you re-record your voicemail |
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Find that perfect hollow tone: |
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"Hey, you've reached me, but what does that mean? |
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I don't know." |
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So run your risk and play your part |
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Hide away your hardened heart |
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And tuck yourself back into your shell |
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But is all that detached irony |
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That finely tuned delivery |
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Hurting more than it's ever helped? |
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Are you fooling anyone but yourself? |
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Well, you're the only one who can tell |
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Because the city has left you alone |
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In a Chelsea bar at closing time |
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Too wired to go home |
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When a street shark with a songbird rap |
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And a repertory brogue |
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Slurs, "C'mon love. There ain't no secret code. |
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Are you thinking what I'm thinkin', yes or no? |
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Leave the mourning for the mornin', love. Let's go." |
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You're acting out the dead end of a theme |
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A cliche in a roundabout |
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Another person's dream |
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It makes romantic copy but it's not a life to lead |
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So roll your eyes and suck on your teeth |
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No, you don't need to prove nothin' to me |
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But you're the only one who knows what you need |
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The city has left you alone |
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Squinting at an address |
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With a car service on hold |
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You keep waiting on redemption, |
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But isn't waiting getting old? |
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You shut your eyes. |
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The city clears its throat: |
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"On with the show." |
