The posters on your wall mark every fashion's rise and fall
Why try to keep the past alive
And though I know the time is almost 1984
It feels like 1965
The music in my room is always slightly out of tune
My harmony is up on trial
And though I know the rhythm you'd prefer me dancing to
I'll turn my revolt into style
I hear the voice of America, telling me to hurry
I don't know, should I stay or should I go?
Social scientists say New York is dying
It's retiring in an artificial glow
Psychoan*lysts, TV panelists
Maybe I'd like it for a while
Locked in a motor car, drunk in a piano bar
Turning my revolt into style
Turning my revolt into style
The video is showing pictures from some other world
But it's OK, don't touch that dial
Your magazine is interviewing one of several girls
Who've turned their revolt into style
The mirrors in my eyes are always focused in surprise
My mouth is covered by a smile
You'll never know what lies behind these public alibis
I'll turn my revolt into style
I'll turn my revolt into style
I'll turn my revolt into style