Bus Stop

Here's another song from the vault. Last night, I ran into a girl I used to work with back when I was an activist 10 years ago. She reminded me about this song and even quoted some of the lyrics. It felt great that someone was touched by something I wrote and that they carried it with them for years and found inspiration in it. I guess that's the whole point and goal for a songwriter. Awesome. Here it is.

Bus Stop

Been sitting at the bus stop
Staring at the melting black top
For about as long this one's been alive
Waiting on a plan, a thought, an idea if you please,
Not to be like all the other bees in the hive.

It's hard making honey for some money for the man
Who barely lets a man like me get by.
So I'm sitting at the bus stop
Waiting on that golden ball to drop
And disappear from sight before my eyes.

And it sure is easy,
To pick and grin,
And talk of days gone by us.
With our friends or even enemies
The victories and the tragedies,
Of dreamt collective memories
In the sky.

And it's a difficult choice for me to make,
Because the bus it travels oh so swiftly.
But maybe my inability
To decide just what's right for me
May well turn out to be my greatest gift.

It keeps me searching
Keeps me hoping
Keeps me loving
Constantly groping
For me something
I can call my own
When the sun does rise.

Been sitting at the bus stop
Fumbling with my broken pocket watch
And it seems these days keep tumbling on by.
And plastic people come and go,
They mumble words and step on toes
And never think to ask the question why.

And I'm still waiting on a vision
Of a woman from a dream
I had awake in NOLA years ago.
So I'm sitting at the bus stop
Seeking peace of mind
And a sturdy mop
To swab the decks of an indecisive soul.

And it sure is easy,
To pick and grin,
And talk of days gone by us.
With our friends or even enemies
The victories and the tragedies,
Of dreamt collective memories
In the sky.

And it's a difficult choice for me to make,
Because the bus it travels oh so swiftly.
But maybe my inability
To decide just what's right for me
May well turn out to be my greatest gift.

It keeps me searching
Keeps me hoping
Keeps me loving
Constantly groping
For me something
I can call my own
When the sun does rise.