With a fake tan
And the tattoo of a butterfly
Where it can't be kissed
They've been
In the six figures
Getting tax breaks and exemptions
From filing jointly
That pays for a stay
A couple o' weeks a year
On a tropical beach
Where the hotel only costs
Five hundred a night
And more
Look out
Look out
View on the lake
She leaves the imprint of her nose
On the pane of her bay window in the
Three thousand square foot downtown penthouse
Hard wood floors
Persian carpets
Antiques
And more
She remembers poorer days
But
Her lover's gone
Her lover's gone
People are ants
From where they stand
No less
She travels with snowflakes
The northern wind going south
She's cold inside
Icicles from her heart
Fall
Through the bars of her golden cage
She's like her lemon drop
Martini
Somewhat stirred
But never shaken
Preferably bought
By a one-night stand
She'll mumble a shy thank you
And tell him to fuck off in a couple o' days
And anyway she's not free
And anyhow she's like that
She'll say
She doesn't have kids
They'd be an inconvenience
She's an artist she claims
And she wants to think she has
A family
Her friends in high places don't give a shit so
She pops antidepressants
And drinks for the warmth
And snorts to forget
She could fly
She thinks
She could love
She reflects
And more
Look out
Look out
View on the lake
She leaves the imprint of her nose
On the pane of her bay window in the
Three thousand square foot downtown penthouse
Hard wood floors
Persian carpets
Antiques
And more
She remembers poorer days
But
Her lover's gone
Her lover's gone
People are ants
From where they stand
No less
She sets the mahogany table that seats eight
For only two
If he's back in time
She'll hear the silver clink on the imported French china
And he'll tell her about his latest deals
But will forget to say
And how was your day, Dear
He's working late
Maybe
Some place in
Suburbia Americana
Maybe
She lights
Cinnamon scented candles and Indian incense
Smokes a Dunhill cigarette
To cheat on her
Fucking boredom and disheartening
Loneliness
And more
The maid left with the dust
The catered meal will arrive
She hopes
She'll hear the chimes
Above the latest fashionable
Alternative rock melody
She plays
To cheat on herself
As she adapts the lyrics
To fit her situation
She's got a right to be sad
If only someone would care
Or more
Look out
Look out
View on the lake
She leaves the imprint of her nose
On the pane of her bay window in the
Three thousand square foot downtown penthouse
Hard wood floors
Persian carpets
Antiques
And more
She remembers poorer days
But
Her lover's gone
Her lover's gone
People are ants
From where they stand
No less
Her lover's gone
Her lover's gone
People are ants
From where they stand
No less
Look out
Look out
Copyright 2010 Alain Millon
