歌词
Crying on a plane to New York, New York
No permit to work nor play
Green card, did you get a green card?
It's only a short stay
Traveling alone
Fans flames
Smokeless, smouldering
I depart without declaration
Almost feeling I could become someone
Except for the hem of my skirt's undone
Achilles heel, a clumsy hole
Somebody stop me baring my soul
Guilt-ridden, provoking
One part my mother with the favour-prompting
Stranger prodding to see how things feel
Just out of sight
I'm perfecting imperfection
That's what I tell myself
I tell myself that there is nobody else
Steward's a sleaze, lives in Queens
Aims to please, to meet his kind of girl
See the World
Travel by token air-fares
Now I lie on a gay friend's sofa
Shakespeare's cuckold throws a blanket over
My many Manhattans, tourist whims
Meat-packing district, my Chelsea mourning
He takes us out for hard-boiled eggs
Salt-beef bagel, oh he's got good legs
But the whiskey comes up, rain pours down
There's no real cure in this grid-locked town
I'm perfecting imperfection
That's what I tell myself
I tell myself that there is nobody else
I'm perfecting imperfection
That's what I'll tell them when
The flights are flown
The men are all kissed
When there's nowhere left to yearn
Still I feel the edge of a shell breaking
Not sure whose, sure I'm not faking
When was my Lord so un-gently tempered
Stopped his ears with my lack of repentance
My lack of repentance
My lack of repentance
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