Your hands are probably cold
Holding that "Anything Helps" sign

At least I hope it's the chill shaking them

Sitting at this glaring red light watching you;
Waiting while this red light is judging me,
Condemning me as I squander time
Sizing up the hunch of your posture
And the vacancy of your expression

Thank god you didn't look at me
I couldn't have taken it

And as the light turned green, I realized
That the shower waiting for me at home
Couldn't possibly clean the grime I accumulated
Just by driving away.