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 and ask
For something we can offer
Three lines of traffic pass
We pull away so fast
That 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
A face saying, "Dollar, dollar"
A face pock-marked and hollow
Staring from the glass