Cigarette Girl
The cigarette girl is an extinct profession. They were gorgeous young women who would work at nightclubs, events and such selling cigarettes from a neck-attached tray. Ironically, upon coming across the idea, I imagined that the reason you don’t see them around anymore these days would be the decline in the cigarette market, given how regulated it’s become, with advertisement bans, smoking restrictions and the like. Turns out, no, at least our mother haven of online knowledge claims it was because they were eventually substituted by the much cheaper and less complicated cigarette vending machine. (Also because of the mother-haven of online knowledge, I was tempted to call the cigarette girl an almost extinct profession, since there are claimed to be cigarette girls still working on Las Vegas clubs to this day, but I refuse to acknowledge that, for Vegas is as real to me as Narnia, and maybe a little less important.)
I imagine the look in a cigarette girl’s eyes these days, in the more private sphere, would be quite weary, given the eventual doom of their profession and the toxic nature of both the carcinogenic product they are made to sell and of the men they are made to sell it to, who’d constantly demean them to simple long legs and pretty hairdos. This song, then, is a lullaby: dear cigarette girl, you can rest easy. Doom will come to us all: I’m a writer and musician, and even today we get the uncomfortable rumblings of the writing and music-vending machines that want to take our fought-for jobs instead of, you know, washing our dishes or something. So why rest your head on those heavy thoughts of death and despair, when you could rest your head on my lap? You’re more than the outdated product that you sell or the outdated profession you occupy. My dear, we’ll be me and you, sleeping easy on a cool night where we don’t need to worry anymore. That is, until the ugly morning comes — I’m a dreamer, not an idiot.
This was recorded after the Make Me A Magic Spell sessions, in fact, quite a bit later. A dear friend of mine suggested “Cigarette Girl” as something that’d make for a cool song title, and I just went and wrote the whole dang thing in about 30 minutes, and recorded it in another 30. It’s pretty cool, at least I thought so, which is why I chose it to transition us between the fun Secret and the more ethereal Fenmore. It is played back at the wrong speed to give it a drowsy, off-kilter feeling.
Cigarette girl
Why are your eyes so weary?
Why are your thoughts so heavy?
Why are your legs so long?
Just lie with me
You can fall asleep
And I'll keep singing your song
Cigarette girl
You light me up on fire
No need for match or lighter
I'll be your tobacco strand
Just fly with me
You can fall asleep
And I’ll keep holding your hand
So, cigarette girl
There's no need to be wary
The future's not that scary
If you just sing along
Just trust in me
And you'll fall asleep
And I'll love you
Till the morning comes
