The city is hiding
In a long grey cloak of rain
And the store's inviting, so you duck inside
There's a mannequin wearing
The sweater you're wearing
But somehow raised and glorified
It's not bad to be wanted
If only for something you have
No, it's not half as bad as it seems
The lethean glow
Of windows decked from head to toe
Like dreaming someone else's dream
Crystal perfume bottles
Like rare exotic jewels
Glowing with a light almost their own
Neat little boxed up Kitchenaids
All singing praises to the secret
They would tell you if you'd only take them home
At an infinite distance
They flutter like angels around it
Casting their crowns
In the sea that surrounds it
Money, money, money