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