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Your days of going through a phase |
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are finally lashing back at you |
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there's more to shut up and ignore |
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but there's even less and less to do |
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and there's nothing to say, and they're looking away |
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what have you got yourself into? |
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One little miss apprehension got you |
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now they're lining up around the block |
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to watch you screw yourself up |
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for this bitter cup, which pains you the most |
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when it's too late to say you're sorry |
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and pretend that it's a toast-- Naomi |
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You struggle with the reality myth |
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when you're talking on the tv screen |
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about choke chains and mary janes |
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in Seventeen Magazine |
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and you're thinking of your JC Penny lingerie |
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that nobody has ever seen |
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No one understands your comments |
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or why you're so obsessed with undergarments |
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from multi-cultured pearl to Glamour girl |
|
took less than a day |
|
and your Wonderbra world of Disney |
|
was just a make-over away |
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Naomi, it's just a matter of time |
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What's that they're saying now? |
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Oh wow, she looks good in tears |
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that you can't allow |
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but now you haven't looked this young in years |
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You look sweet walking down the street |
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but no one's even slowing down |
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they can't decide, should they offer you a ride |
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or the head of Helen Gurley Brown |
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Naomi, it's just a matter of time. |
