He raped her with his eyes the minute she
walked into the office as she stretched to
hang her coat behind the door.
He beamed a smile so fit she could have filled
it with helium and flown across the countryside.
He tried very hard to invite her out for lunch,
but like most women she could sense the underlying
note of danger.
Her instincts kept him at a safe distance,
and then he made her a cup
of coffee and the steam rose across her face.
It could be you,
it could be me.
We'll have to wait,
we'll have to see.
It's off the sale,
now that it's time to take the start break.
The sensation of safely driving like a little boy ambition,
going around and around the
mountainside makes a woman mad for attention.
She hides the car keys, he turns the place
upside down.
He looks out the window to see her driving off in the distance.
A cloud of
country dust feathers the sunlight as she smiles into the windscreen.
All he can do is fold a cologne through his fingers.
It could be you,
it could be me.
We'll have to wait,
we'll have to see.
You will note a change apparently.
There she is again,
this time with a pair of jeans being pulled
slowly up over the curves of her body.
He plays guitar in a rocking chair.
They are the jeans of our forefathers.
These are the jeans of the 21st century.
This is the new world where television and I become ones.
We look down the digital telescope into the future.
And now it's time for a short break.
It could be you,
it could be me.
We'll have to wait,
we'll have to see.
It's off for sale,
now that it's time.
It's light of an L,
white of a Y.
Dropped in a can,
the price is right.
Save as you go,
the drive of your life.
It's good to talk,
we say hello,
we say goodbye.
We've frozen days.
It could be you,
it could be me.
It's off for sale,
now that it's time to take a short break.
To take a short break.