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 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 She's in fashion, 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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