THOUGHTS WHILE ON A BUS
Thoughts while on a bus
From the city to Rathgar, on the bus it’s not too far,
And the drivers they’re a frowning, as I fumble for my fare.
He sits there looking crappy,
And I know that he’s not happy,
So I gives to him some coins and with my ticket catch his glare…
That bus begins to lurch, as I stumble to my perch,
On the top deck, for a rockin’ reeling ride.
I’m looking for that steeple,
As I gaze down on the people,
Walking up and down the windy street outside…
I sway upon that hard seat,
As I rest my weary sore feet,
It feels good to let my buttocks take the load.
Down there the traffic screaming,
Up here the bus is leaning,
As we move along that narrow winding road…
I alight, this is my stop,
Then hit the bottle shop,
Walk by the grey stone church, with steeple standing tall.
At home I have a drink,
Roll a smoke sit back and think,
While the driver weaves that bus through peak time crawl…
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