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Two Hours Traffic
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Mr. Saturday
There's a girl up the stairs,
Green eyes and lemon hair,
I wonder if there's something there.
She keeps her clothes on the floor,
A padlock on her door,
It keeps out all of the bad people.
I wonder if there's something I could wear,
To make her think that I was all that.
Late at night she'll pass my door,
Continue passed my floor,
I'm hoping for something more.
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There's a park at the end of four street,
Where she runs and goes to read,
Behind all the highway sign and underneath all the concrete.
But I can tell the ways she feels,
Just by looking.
Might give her the key to my apartment,
Hell, I might even offer to pay her rent,
That'd be alright.
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