| Wake up in the morning you feel out of place
|
| You’re a disgrace
|
| Once more with resignation
|
| But there’s bills to be paid
|
| So you stumble to the station
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| You’re wearing your most imperceptible frown
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| These people are adjectives to your proper noun
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| As you wash through the streets of this phony old town
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| It’s wearing you down
|
| And yet there you are
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| Standing out in your favourite blue dress
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| Hair is a mess
|
| Nevertheless
|
| Cleopatra in Brooklyn
|
| You casually shed poetry like your clothes
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| In neat little rows
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| On the floor of my hotel room
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| You’d always dreamed that you’d be a princess
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| But you’d accept less
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| Holding court holed-up in your bedroom
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| And I’d say I was Antony begging at your door
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| But I know that you’d laugh and just ask me what for
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| And then just roll your eyes as I fell the floor
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| And swear that I’m yours
|
| And yet there you are
|
| Standing out in your favourite blue dress
|
| Hair is a mess
|
| Nevertheless
|
| Cleopatra in Brooklyn
|
| You wait by the Brooklyn bridge for your king to return (x2)
|
| Yeah, you wait by the Brooklyn bridge for your king to return
|
| Then retire to your palace on Smith Street as the old rope burns
|
| Yet there you are
|
| Standing out in your favourite blue dress
|
| Hair is a mess
|
| Nevertheless
|
| Cleopatra in Brooklyn
|
| Yes there you are
|
| A glittering star
|
| Couldn’t care less
|
| Who do you impress
|
| You’re my thrift store princess
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| Cleopatra in Brooklyn
|
| I’ll come find you when the fates dessert you
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| I’ll still hold you when the Gods dessert you |