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Caroline laughs and it's raining all day |
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She loves to be one of the girls |
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She lives in the place in the side of our lives |
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Where nothing is ever put straight |
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She turns her self round and she smiles and she says |
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"This is it that's the end of the joke" |
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And loses herself in her dreaming and sleep |
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And her lovers walk through in their coaches |
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Pretty in pink, isn't she? |
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Pretty in pink, isn't she? |
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All of her lovers all talk of her notes |
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And the flowers that they never sent |
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And wasn't she easy? |
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Isn't she pretty in pink? |
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The one who insists he was first in the line |
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Is the last to remember her name |
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He's walking around in this dress that she wore |
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She is gone but the joke's the same |
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Pretty in pink, isn't she? |
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Pretty in pink, isn't she? |
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Caroline talks to you softly sometimes |
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She says, "I love you" and "Too much" |
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She doesn't have anything you want to steal |
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Well nothing you can touch |
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She waves, she buttons your shirt |
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The traffic is waiting outside |
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She hands you this coat |
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She gives you her clothes |
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These cars collide |
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Pretty in pink, isn't she? |
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Pretty in pink, isn't she? |
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All their favorite rags are worn |
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And other kinds of uniform |
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Kitty, you're really free like individuality |
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You are what you want to be |
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Until tomorrow the driveway's broken |
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His doorbell sings its chimes |
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In time with what and for who |
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God knows why I tried this |
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Vicious drug and I shake |
