[Intro]
[Verse 1]
Cigarette smoke curls like a French film scene,
Quoting Kierkegaard in a thrift-store pea coat, obscene.
You name-drop bands that no one’s ever heard,
Your vintage vinyl collection drowns out every word.
[Chorus]
Oh, you’re velvet obscure, a postmodern pose,
Dancing in analog to a b**t nobody knows.
Your irony’s a shield, your slang’s a curated curse,
A jangle-pop prophet in a borrowed universe.
[Verse 2]
You sip espresso through a straw, just to make it clear,
That even your vices are too complex to hear.
Your mixtape’s a manifesto, scrawled in neon ink,
But the synthesizer’s flat, and the truths don’t sync.
[Chorus]
Oh, you’re velvet obscure, a postmodern pose,
Dancing in analog to a b**t nobody knows.
Your irony’s a shield, your slang’s a curated curse,
A jangle-pop prophet in a borrowed universe.
[Bridge]
You paint your nails with nihilism, hum a Kafka tune,
Your heart’s a vintage locket—empty, but chic for the moon.
The crowd applauds your silence, mistaking it for depth,
But the reverb’s just hiding there’s nothing left.
[Chorus]
Oh, you’re velvet obscure, a postmodern pose,
Dancing in analog to a b**t nobody knows.
Your irony’s a shield, your slang’s a curated curse,
A jangle-pop prophet in a borrowed universe.
[Outro]
