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It's SaAmturdaCy nFigAmht, it feels like a Sunday in some ways
IAmf youC haFd Amany sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days
BAme thaCt aFs Amit may, you can only say you are lonely
YAmou arCe bFutAm a young girl working your way through the phonies
Dm CafFe on, milkAm gone, such a sad light and fading.
Dm YourseFlf you touch, butAm not too much. You hear it's degrading.
TAmhe flCoweFrsAm on your stockings wilting away in the midnight
TAmhe boCok FyoAmu are reading is someone's opinion of moonlight
YAmour sCkinF iAms so white, you'd like maybe to go to bed soon
JAmust cClosFinAmg your eyes if you're to rise up before noon
Dm High hFeels, car wheeAmls, all the losers are groovin'
Dm Your dFream, strangAme scene, images are movin'
Your friends they are making a pop star or two every evening
You know that scene backwards, they can't see the patterns
they're weaving
Your friends they're all models but you soon got over that
one
You sit in your one room a little brought down in London
Cafe on, milk gone, such a sad light and fading.
Yourself you touch, but not too much. You hear it's
degrading.
It's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways
If you had any sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days
Be that as it may, you can only say you are lonely
You are but a young girl working your way through the
phoniesIt's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways
If you had any sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days
Be that as it may, you can only say you are lonely
You are but a young girl working your way through the
phonies
Cafe on, milk gone, such a sad light and fading.
Yourself you touch, but not too much. You hear it's
degrading.
The flowers on your stockings wilting away in the midnight
The book you are reading is someone's opinion of moonlight
Your skin is so white, you'd like maybe to go to bed soon
Just closing your eyes if you're to rise up before noon
High heels, car wheels, all the losers are groovin'
Your dream, strange scene, images are movin'
Your friends they are making a pop star or two every evening
You know that scene backwards, they can't see the patterns
they're weaving
Your friends they're all models but you soon got over that
one
You sit in your one room a little brought down in London
Cafe on, milk gone, such a sad light and fading.
Yourself you touch, but not too much. You hear it's
degrading.
It's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways
If you had any sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days
Be that as it may, you can only say you are lonely
You are but a young girl working your way through the
phonies
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