Wake up every morning and feel out of place,
Put on your face:
Once more with resignation.
The world won’t appreciate greatness today,
But there’s bills to be paid,
So you stumble to the station.

You’re wearing your most imperceptible frown -
These people are adjectives to your proper noun.
As you wander the streets of this phoney old town,
It’s wearing you down.

You casually shed poetry like your clothes -
In neat little rows
On the floor of my hotel room.
You never wanted to be a princess,
You said you'd accept less,
Holding court holed up in your bedroom.

I'd say I was Anthony begging at your door,
But I know that you'd laugh and just ask me what for,
And then you'd roll your eyes as I fell on the floor
To swear that I'm yours.

You wait by the Brooklyn Bridge for your king to return,
Then retire to your palace on Smith Street as the old Rome burns.

And yet there you are, like a dream in your favourite blue dress,
Your hair is a mess, but nevertheless:
Cleopatra in Brooklyn.
Yes there you are, a glittering star, you couldn't care less
Who you impress, you're my thrift store princess:
Cleopatra in Brooklyn

I'll come find you when your fortunes fail you.
I'll die with you when the gods desert you.