Thursday 8Am

We sit alone in this waiting room
Another Thursday, 8 a.m.
I fumble with my cough drops
She sneezes (and) wipes her hand

And the rain is like a stranger
Rapping hard on the window pane
And I sense that I'm in danger
Of losing faith again

She looks the same again this week
Perfect skin and a matching scarf
This girl could be a movie star
Leading men and throbbing hearts

And the rain is getting louder
As she flips through her magazine
(And) I guess at things about her
And wonder what they mean

And she seems nice
And me, I need a sign
Its the myth of 15 minutes
And I've got the time

I play at being a writer
As the severance pays the rent
But the words they flow too slowly
And the money's nearly spent

And while the storm forms around us
I wait for the muse to hit
Writing scene of loves and scoundrels
But the endings never fit

And she seems nice
And me, I need a sign
This gift of 15 minutes
And I'm wasting time

And I bet her life is easy
And she takes her coffee sweet
And doubt she's ever lonely
Or hides behind her dreams

And the rain is like a stranger
Pressing hard on the window pain
And I know that I'm in danger
Again

And she seems nice
And me, I need a sign
Its been 15 minutes
And I'm out of time