2 acessos
It was the rage of plastics; I was 24
I was doing my time on the dancefloor
It was all polyester and leopard print
And Fabergé coming off the ladies
I know it's a blight to the brightest how our designs unseam
Like the backside of some skirt in some old man's dream
I got caught putting off all my traveling plans
For this refinery job and his maybes
With hair in ribbons, stockings in runs
Fashion bricks out of the breaks as they come
Land goes for less downwind of the plant
There's no telling how long you'll be paying
There are scores of us born in the silent spring
Whose wombs won't take, won't bear anything
He had want for a daughter, and I had want for a son
Now I rock my moon faced man like one
Was it the river on fire that made us what we became?
Was it the cup that we drank from, or what it contained?
Does it move to the beat of the oil drums
Or flow out of our eyes as we're wailing?
And I see it rise in ribbons to the clouds overhung
Just to spit back down on everyone
Land goes for less downwind of the plant
There's no telling how long you'll be paying