Thursday, November 03, 2005

That Song

That Song

That song is playing on the radio again,
The one that makes me think of you.
Driving with the windows wide open,
Eating dust to avoid the heat.
The air was heavy with the scent of flowers,
My hair got tangled in the wind.
You played that song again and again,
'Til I wondered; will the tape last long?

Here I sit in my air-conditioned car,
My hair combed just right, no dust in sight,
No flowers either, just that song,
The one that makes me think of you.