Zephyr Device

Fugitive Plastic

Lyrics

She enters stores and exhales Basks under bright lights in the pale Glow of plush deco, a bare bones boutique That seeks the roaming fashion leeches The ones who walk family beaches In fancy bikinis beyond rational reaches Of thought, if caught red-handed Fabric addicts will justify a buy with "I just had to have it!" Receipts are demanded By hubbies who act as checkbook commanders Buyers get reprimanded For buying clothes that blistered hands Of tiny workers in distant lands Labels describe places with foreign names Of countries never visited on holiday trips: Thailand, India, Vietnam are tiny blips On a fashion slaves radar of interests Instead they invest thought and assets (in thousands) In investments that shrink when dried in high temperatures Something doesn't make sense! Slaves to fashion--trend whores with throwaway capital A credit card with a track record, fugitive plastic That helps fund factory masters, slave driving bastards, That lose sight of humanity in a haze of self-interest Forcing labor for shit pay to feed the beast That is a rat racing generation of imaged crazed, illusion chasers!

Can't they see that they're wasting cash On clothes that don't talk back In dark closet self-therapy sessions When shoppers cry about life pressures Pushing up against still price-tagged dresses That didn't quite create the desired effect: The blind self-adoration that is always expected When shoppers stare at fresh mirror reflections New clothes used to medicate depression, "Individual" style expression, Intended to make Movado aficionados guess, "Oooo, how much you think she get that for? Five, seven, a grand maybe two I'm guessin!"

To look last season is reason enough To get charged with treason by the fashion police Whose jerk-off fantasies are teeming with the fashion elite Who are bullshit speaking and smiling while shifty eyed-- Looking for any signs of ancient fall lines Slightly off designs that are clear signs of IQ and brain size An orgy of ogling with open-jawed drooling Over all that hangs coolly From a tall model's boobies Fat addicts confused, Unable to choose from the racks of tiny clothing scraps They turn to shoes, but stilettos and flab Go together like a mean pit and a weak cat Pointy heels jab at foot fat and don't look back! What's a big addict to do, or a shopper whose Paychecks are new with the stained blouse blues, Where do they turn when every outfit looks used When leaving the house requires the perusing of mounds Of clothes moved around in the futile search for self-completing Outfits?

Zephyr Device

"Departure"

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Authors' Commentary

Fugitive Plastic

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