She makes her way through the crowd, unnoticed in her lengthy shroud, made of silks that reach her throat, this gray coat.
Under clouds painted in rough steel, a bottle is what she conceals, but this poison has no antidote, the one in her gray coat.
The venom is not for others to drink, something only for her to rethink, and though my name is on the note, she still stands in her gray coat.
Her caged thoughts beg to be released, before they form into some beast, as I had wrote, to the young miss in the gray coat.
So there in these dark streets, she repeats, to drink down her thoughts to stay afloat, oh the lady in the gray coat.
And when she downs her emotions, she will know that she should have shared those potions, and so I rewrote, my name on my bottled feelings... for I am the lady in the gray coat.