He ordered up a Happy Meal; He sat down with his kids
I cleaned the salad trolley; I put out more plastic lids
He didn't speak to me, although I tried to say "Hello,"
His daughter had an army doll called "Cinderella Joe"
She was fighting with the ketchup, she was climbing up the fries
She went flying off the table into shark-infested skies
He yelled, "Molly, get on back here,"
When she brought the doll to me
She said, "I'll fight your carrot sticks with ghosts of Mr. T"
And I said, "That's a nice dolly, though she's missing half an ear,"
He stood and shouted, "Molly, get your body over here!"
She said, "I'm only talking with this lady on the phone,"
He said, "There's people you should talk to, people you should leave alone."
And I gave her a coin from Cuba, but he dropped it on the floor
He said, "You can't take things from strangers as they headed for the door
And I guess he thought that because I work at McDonald's I have no soul
That a body can serve a Big Mac when it's on remote control
That serving fries would rob me of the dreams I have at night
That I'm not here, that I don't feel, that I don't reach for light
The preppy crowd comes in at lunch and orders up a storm
College boys and college-bound in sweaters that look warm
They talk about the girls they like and how they'd like to score
But when a girl walks in they don't discuss it anymore
And it's like this plastic shield up, like I'm wearing a disguise
They say "I'd like to screw someone." They don't avoid my eyes
And I guess he thought that because I work at McDonald's I have no soul
That a body can serve a Big Mac when it's on remote control
That serving fries would rob me of the dreams I have at night
That I'm not here, that I don't feel, that I don't reach for light
I got this job four years ago; I go to school at night
I came here from Havana with my mom to start a life
My grand-dad was a writer; I have his book at home
For pages it's a story, then it turns into a poem
He wrote it all in Spanish, crossed out every other word
It's a kid out in the countryside, a crooked flying bird
He wrote it on brown paper in a kind of jagged scrawl
And though no one else could read it, still he had to save it all
I read it every night now, as I try to go to sleep
My fingers smudge the pages; How can paper cut so deep?
Well did you see me at McDonald's, trying to look into your soul?
Staring off to outer space like you were on remote control?
It's not like it's so bad if we keep missing in the night
Shedding mounds of fast food wrappers as we're reaching for the light
I'll clean up your fast food wrappers, just keep reaching for the light