The city is hiding In a long grey cloak of rain And the store's inviting, so you duck inside There's a mannequin wearing The sweater you're wearing But somehow raised and glorified It's not bad to be wanted If only for something you have No, it's not half as bad as it seems The lethean glow Of windows decked from head to toe Like dreaming someone else's dream Crystal perfume bottles Like rare exotic jewels Glowing with a light almost their own Neat little boxed up Kitchenaids All singing praises to the secret They would tell you if you'd only take them home At an infinite distance They flutter like angels around it Casting their crowns In the sea that surrounds it Money, money, money