This blue Honda Civic is surely not mine,
It's too perfect, you may find.
Driven home by my heartbroken mother,
Always knowing, we have each other.
My Honda's parked on the street,
Not a spec of dust and perfectly neat.
Glancing at such a car every day,
With a quick nod, then walking away.
Why is this beauty for me,
What have  I done to deserve thee?
It speaks my name now,
I wonder how.
It's awaiting for me,
To be painlessly set free.