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