Lyrics:

Brilliantly evocative portrait of a lonely groupie (the original studio rendition is the best by far). His pronunciations and odd emphases mean some of these lyrics are guesses.
It's Saturday night
It feels like a Sunday in some ways
If you had any sense
You'd maybe go 'way for a few days
Be that as it may
You can only say you were lonely
You are but a young girl
Working your way through the phonies

Coffee 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 one man'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 grooving
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

Coffee on, milk gone
Such a sad light and fading
Yourself you touch
But not too much
You've heard it's degrading

A Saturday night
It feels like a Sunday in some ways
If you had any sense
You'd maybe go 'way for a few days
Be that as it may
You can only say you were lonely
You are but a young girl
And you're working your way through the phonies