| Satellite, satellite
|
| Satellite, satellite
|
| She’s got a wall full of pinups
|
| And magazine photos
|
| She teases her hair
|
| As she tries on the poses
|
| Just stands at the T. V
|
| While she’s filing her nails
|
| And sighs, «Maybe»
|
| And I am standing in line
|
| With the other stuffed toys
|
| While she’s checking her diary
|
| And painting her toe
|
| Is Friday or Saturday night?
|
| Well, who knows?
|
| She says, «Maybe»
|
| And there’s space junk inside her head
|
| And she’s, she’s somewhere out there
|
| Spinning like a
|
| Satellite, satellite
|
| Oh, duzuduz ah darlin'
|
| When are you coming down?
|
| Satellite, satellite
|
| Well, she’s studied the movies
|
| Ordered all the right clothes
|
| Is she modeling Gretta Garbo
|
| Or Maralyn Monroe?
|
| She can waste hours and hours
|
| With her friends on the phone
|
| They say, «Maybe»
|
| Leaves her lipstick and perfume
|
| All over the place
|
| Only sweets in the daytime
|
| Never wears the same dress
|
| She’s in ecstasy now
|
| She’s says, «Oo, that’s the best!»
|
| I say, «Maybe»
|
| And there’s space junk inside her head
|
| She’s somewhere out there
|
| Spinning like a
|
| Satellite, satellite
|
| Space junk inside her head
|
| She’s somewhere out there
|
| Space junk inside her head
|
| She’s somewhere out there |