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A boy stares through the glass
He’s saying, dollar, dollar
Three lines of traffic pass
We’re trapped inside our car
His voice says, dollar, dollar
I turn to you to ask
For something we can offer
Three lines of traffic pass
We pull away so fast
All my words get swallowed
In the mirror glass
A face pock-marked and hollow
Is saying, dollar, dollar
I can’t look through or past
The face saying dollar, dollar
The face pock-marked and hollow
Staring from the glass
Go back
