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This is a version a friend sent me it seems to be correct.
AmIt's SaCturdaFy nAmight, it feels like a Sunday in some ways IfAm you haCd anyF seAmnse, you'd maybe go away for a few days BeAm that aCs it FmayAm, you can only say you are lonely YoAmu are bCut a FyouAmng girl working your way through the phonies
Chorus
Dm CafeF on, Eadd4 milk gone,Am such a sad light and fading. Dm YourselfF you touchEadd4, but not Amtoo much. You hear it's degrading.
ThAme floweCrs onF yoAmur stockings wilting away in the midnight ThAme book Cyou aFre Amreading is someone's opinion of moonlight YoAmur skinC is sFo wAmhite, you'd like maybe to go to bed soon JuAmst closCing yFourAm eyes if you're to rise up before noon
Dm High heFels, Eadd4car wheels, aAmll the losers are groovin' Dm Your drFeam, strEadd4ange scAmene, images are movin'
Your friends they are making a pop star or two every evening You know that scene backwards, they can't see the patterns they're weaving Your friends they're all models but you soon got over that one You sit in your one room a little brought down in London Cafe on, milk gone, such a sad light and fading. Yourself you touch, but not too much. You hear it's degrading. It's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways If you had any sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days Be that as it may, you can only say you are lonely You are but a young girl working your way through the phoniesIt's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways If you had any sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days Be that as it may, you can only say you are lonely You are but a young girl working your way through the phonies Cafe on, milk gone, such a sad light and fading. Yourself you touch, but not too much. You hear it's degrading. The flowers on your stockings wilting away in the midnight The book you are reading is someone's opinion of moonlight Your skin is so white, you'd like maybe to go to bed soon Just closing your eyes if you're to rise up before noon High heels, car wheels, all the losers are groovin' Your dream, strange scene, images are movin' Your friends they are making a pop star or two every evening You know that scene backwards, they can't see the patterns they're weaving Your friends they're all models but you soon got over that one You sit in your one room a little brought down in London Cafe on, milk gone, such a sad light and fading. Yourself you touch, but not too much. You hear it's degrading. It's Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways If you had any sense, you'd maybe go away for a few days Be that as it may, you can only say you are lonely You are but a young girl working your way through the phonies