Cinderella

My name is not Cinderella,
And the sun don't reflect off my hands.
I'm pretty, but I'm plain and I prefer it that way.
But still, I feel unforgiven.

You always thought I was joking,
When I said that you drained all my tears.
Well, you know it's me who's been calling,
Though the sound is never too clear.

The last time I saw California,
I was wearing my red leather boots.
With a smoke in my hand, and according to plan,
I ran bravely into the blue ocean.

You never knew how to confuse me.
You were always direct with your words.
And you know it's me who's been calling,
Though the sound is never too clear.

And I found a way to the attic in your heart,
In your heart, there's nothing, but boxes and dust.
And you always said I reminded you fondly,
Of mothers and lovers you knew in the past.
And how could you stand there and tell me so calmly,
Your theory on Venus and alien beings,
Well, don't turn me into your mother, your brother,
Your daughter, your puppy, your face in the glass.

Well, you vanished like some Cassanova.
You with a rose in your teeth.
Well, I loved you the best, baby, out of the rest,
But I guess, I could still be mistaken.

My name is not Cinderella,
And the sun don't reflect off my hands.
I'm pretty, but I'm plain and I prefer it that way.
You smiled and said I'm forgiven...