Fashionistas (Rhythm of the City)
Brown eyed fashionistas
Waltz down Fifth Avenue
While blue eyed angels
Invade my mind
What's with the angelic forces?
In my life
In my lives
All twenty-seven of them
With personalities to match
Oh if I could feel the rhythm of the city
I might be myself,
But who would want to be me?
Be a juvenile,
Imprisoned in a prison of her own creation,
Not allowing herself to be free
When that's really all she wants,
There is something about Shakespearean darlings
Oh how she longs to be one
Still she thinks the thoughts of a thousand corpses
Dying of murders in the ghetto
Some where in the facets of her brain
The inspiration of the city corrupts her,
Bringing her to insomniac ways
Her mind,
Feeling of dementia,
Of believing something is always wrong
When everything is oh so right
So appropriate they call ramblings of the mind
A stream of consciousness
When your entire mind is,
Is a river flowing constantly,
Never getting blocked
Like the brains caught in front of expensive shoe stores,
Who would want to wear 50-dollar sandals
They would be too pretty to wear out onto
The mud spattered streets
The blood spattered streets
But not envy makes me think these things,
But only the fact that she wants the city so bad,
She wants the beauty queen status quo,
To be the brown eyed fashionista,
But instead she is a blue-eyed angel,
A messenger for the alternative world,
And still while her heart calls to the rhythm of the city,
She knows she would not have it any other way.