Wet Windows Quarter Past Eight

Till then, I'll polish up the morning, watch it go.
Afternoon comes slow, and the shift gets long.
Customers pull in with their trucks all dirty; I hum a tune I think she'd like to sing along.
Wipe the chrome until the chrome looks pretty; the radio plays something sweet and slow.
I keep one eye on the sidewalk, one on the hope,
So she turns the corner.
I know it's time to go, but she's the reason I come in,