Cigarette Runs and Traffic Lights

It is night 2 am I am driving to the store for cigarettes A short trip Or it would be Except the light turns red The minute I reach it I slow my car to a crawl Hoping that I can inch my way forward That if I just take my time It will turn green and signal My departure It doesn’t turn green And so I sit At a red light With not another car in sight I sit tight Just like I was trained to do A good citizen A willing slave Even when it is clear I could move Even when not a soul would be harmed By pushing on the gas And blowing the light I sit in the dark At the light A quiet symbol of control And wonder what it means to be free And this is quite possibly The greatest argument For not buying cigarettes At 2 am If more people sat In the dark At lights at 2am Then the makers of lights and rules Might tremble