She's the face on the radio, she's the body on the morning show,
She's there shaking it out on the scene,
She's the colour of a magazine
And she's in fashion, she's in fashion,
She's employed where the sun don't set
and she's the shape of a cigarette
And she's the shake of a tambourine
and she's the colour of a magazine,
And she's in fashion, and she's in fashion
Oh and if she tells you 2 is 1 then 2 is 1 my love
Oh and if she tells you you should know,
then you should know my love,
She is strung out on a TV dream,
and she's the taste of gasoline,
and she's as similar as you can get to the shape of a cigarette
And she's in fashion
(And the sunshine it blows my mind, and the wind blows my brain)
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