[Intro]
[Verse 1]
Sipping espresso in a thrifted robe,
Quoting Rimbaud on a cracked screen phone.
Vintage vinyl spins a borrowed sound,
You curate your soul but it’s still hollow ground.
[Chorus]
Oh, we’re dancing in our plastic crowns,
Faking depth where the truth drowns.
Mirrorball lies in a neon haze,
We’re all just clichés in a postmodern phase.
[Verse 2]
Name-drop Sartre at the downtown loft,
Your art film script is a caffeine soft.
Jangle chords ring through the static air,
A vintage guitar, but there’s nothing there.
[Chorus]
Oh, we’re dancing in our plastic crowns,
Faking depth where the truth drowns.
Mirrorball lies in a neon haze,
We’re all just clichés in a postmodern phase.
[Bridge]
Marble stairs lead to empty stares,
Your manifesto’s just cut-and-paste prayers.
The synthesizer hums a shallow tune,
We’re obsolete before we hit the moon.
[Outro]
