[Intro]
[Verse 1]
I wear my vintage coat with a tear so precise,
Quoting French poets while sipping cold ice.
My vinyl collection’s a shrine to the rare,
Dancing in lofts where the walls breathe pretension and air.
[Chorus]
Oh, I’m the critic’s muse in a neon-lit haze,
A walking manifesto of the postmodern phase.
You’ll never decode my ambiguous stare,
I’m the crown of the scene in my highbrow affair.
[Verse 2]
I sip espresso black from a cup without handles,
Namedrop d**d artists like they’re part of my scandals.
My lyrics are layers you’ll struggle to parse,
A symphony of irony, too clever by half.
[Chorus]
Oh, I’m the critic’s muse in a neon-lit haze,
A walking manifesto of the postmodern phase.
You’ll never decode my ambiguous stare,
I’m the crown of the scene in my highbrow affair.
[Bridge]
Laugh at my jargon, but you’re missing the art,
My existential dread’s a cut above the chart.
I’ll fade into obscurity, but darling, that’s chic—
A relic of a scene that’s too cool to speak.
[Outro]