In Santa Monica, in the wintertime,
the lazy streets so undemanding I walk into the crowd
Marge Dursley walked down the sidewalks of Santa Monica. It was the
wintertime. The snow fell lightly on the ground, the streets were filled with
ice. The ice were so thick, that people were skating down the streets.
In Santa Monica, you get your coffee from the coolest places on the
promenade
Marge walked in to Mandy's coffee shop. She bought a small coffee. She loved
it there.
Where people dress just so Beauty so unavoidable, everywhere you turn
it's there.
She looked around the coffee shop. They're where other people there. They
were dressed perfectly, they're beauty everywhere. She tried to avoid the
locals, but she couldn't. They were everywhere.
Marge sat down with her coffee at a nearby table. What was she doing here?
But on the telephone line I am anyone,
I am anything I want to be.
"Do you have a telephone?" She asked one of the clerks, the exact same
question she asked a million times. The clerk pointed to her front-left, and
Marge walked over there and used the phone.
"Let's see, who should I call first?" She asked herself, "About the
Grangers'?"
She immediately picked up the phone and dialed their number. "Hello? This is
a super model. I wanted to know-" Marge managed to get out before she stopped.
"You're dentists? Sorry, wrong number."
"Um, The Thomases' next"
"Hello," She said in her best impersonating-Norman Mailer voice, "This is
Norman Mailer, American author-"
"Sorry, wrong number."
And you wouldn't know the difference Or would you?
"They don't know who I am, of course," She said to herself, "Or do they?"
In Santa Monica, all the people got modern names like Jake or Mandy
And modern bodies too
Marge enviously looked at Mandy, the owner of the store, who was currently
behind a counter. She so badly wanted the name Mandy. Not plan old Marge.
But, Mandy, the name she liked much better. And her body- the best she could
do was shave her mustache.
In Santa Monica, on the boulevard, you'll have to dodge those in-line skaters
Or they'll knock you down
She looked outside and saw the skaters skating down the streets, and others
on the sidewalk; in-liners, were the ones of the sidewalk. She had to dodge
them when she was out there; one time they had nearly knocked her down.
More than anything, Marge wanted to be like the people of Santa Monica. So
modern, and beautiful.
But on the telephone line I am anyone,
I am anything I want to be
I could be a super model or Norman Mailer.
Marge picked up the phone again. This time she called the Abbots. "Hello,
this is super model-"
"Sorry, wrong number."
Now for the Flinch-Flecthys.
"This is Norman Mailer-"
"Sorry, Wrong number."
And you wouldn't know the difference
On the telephone line I am any height, I am any age I want to be
She called the Creevys. "Hi, I'm an 5'6, 15 year old girl who wants to
know- why must I drink milk?"
Surprisingly, she got a full answer on why she must drink milk.
"Thanks."
I could be a caped crusader, or space invader
She called the Boots.
"I'm a caped crusader-"
Ding. The person on the other line immediately hung up.
She tried the Clearwaters.
"Hello, I'm a space invader-"
Ding. Same thing.
And you wouldn't know the difference Or would you?
Marge walked away from the telephone, down Santa Monica. No one knew what she
secretly did- or did they?
Disclaimer: Marge, and all the family names I named belong to J.K Rowling.
"Santa Monica" belongs to Savage Garden. The only thing I own is Mandy, the
clerk, and Mandy's Coffee shop, and you can have 'em if you want.
the lazy streets so undemanding I walk into the crowd
Marge Dursley walked down the sidewalks of Santa Monica. It was the
wintertime. The snow fell lightly on the ground, the streets were filled with
ice. The ice were so thick, that people were skating down the streets.
In Santa Monica, you get your coffee from the coolest places on the
promenade
Marge walked in to Mandy's coffee shop. She bought a small coffee. She loved
it there.
Where people dress just so Beauty so unavoidable, everywhere you turn
it's there.
She looked around the coffee shop. They're where other people there. They
were dressed perfectly, they're beauty everywhere. She tried to avoid the
locals, but she couldn't. They were everywhere.
Marge sat down with her coffee at a nearby table. What was she doing here?
But on the telephone line I am anyone,
I am anything I want to be.
"Do you have a telephone?" She asked one of the clerks, the exact same
question she asked a million times. The clerk pointed to her front-left, and
Marge walked over there and used the phone.
"Let's see, who should I call first?" She asked herself, "About the
Grangers'?"
She immediately picked up the phone and dialed their number. "Hello? This is
a super model. I wanted to know-" Marge managed to get out before she stopped.
"You're dentists? Sorry, wrong number."
"Um, The Thomases' next"
"Hello," She said in her best impersonating-Norman Mailer voice, "This is
Norman Mailer, American author-"
"Sorry, wrong number."
And you wouldn't know the difference Or would you?
"They don't know who I am, of course," She said to herself, "Or do they?"
In Santa Monica, all the people got modern names like Jake or Mandy
And modern bodies too
Marge enviously looked at Mandy, the owner of the store, who was currently
behind a counter. She so badly wanted the name Mandy. Not plan old Marge.
But, Mandy, the name she liked much better. And her body- the best she could
do was shave her mustache.
In Santa Monica, on the boulevard, you'll have to dodge those in-line skaters
Or they'll knock you down
She looked outside and saw the skaters skating down the streets, and others
on the sidewalk; in-liners, were the ones of the sidewalk. She had to dodge
them when she was out there; one time they had nearly knocked her down.
More than anything, Marge wanted to be like the people of Santa Monica. So
modern, and beautiful.
But on the telephone line I am anyone,
I am anything I want to be
I could be a super model or Norman Mailer.
Marge picked up the phone again. This time she called the Abbots. "Hello,
this is super model-"
"Sorry, wrong number."
Now for the Flinch-Flecthys.
"This is Norman Mailer-"
"Sorry, Wrong number."
And you wouldn't know the difference
On the telephone line I am any height, I am any age I want to be
She called the Creevys. "Hi, I'm an 5'6, 15 year old girl who wants to
know- why must I drink milk?"
Surprisingly, she got a full answer on why she must drink milk.
"Thanks."
I could be a caped crusader, or space invader
She called the Boots.
"I'm a caped crusader-"
Ding. The person on the other line immediately hung up.
She tried the Clearwaters.
"Hello, I'm a space invader-"
Ding. Same thing.
And you wouldn't know the difference Or would you?
Marge walked away from the telephone, down Santa Monica. No one knew what she
secretly did- or did they?
Disclaimer: Marge, and all the family names I named belong to J.K Rowling.
"Santa Monica" belongs to Savage Garden. The only thing I own is Mandy, the
clerk, and Mandy's Coffee shop, and you can have 'em if you want.