When Tomorrow's Just Like Yesterday, They're Not The Same At All

One day,
I'm
Gonna be that hippy writer chick
In the studio apartment
In the cheapest borough she can find.

You know the one.
The one who protests on the weekends
And spends the weekdays huddled over a typewriter;
Clack, clack, clack.

And the words she's writing
Are all over.
She put up wallpaper
Just so she could paint the walls
With the words that her typewriter

Didn't want to say.

And she wishes she was an artist
So she wouldn't look so lame
In her blue t-shirt and jeans that only fit now because
Ramen's all she can afford to eat.

And she wishes she wasn't flat broke,
But changing the world don't come cheap,
And it don't bring much in, either.

Yeah.
I'm going to be that hippy writer chick.
Tryin' ta change the world,
Even though she knows
It's never gonna happen.

Yeah, right.