This bus, that clanks along in old machinery style.
Of daring not to care.
Of instilling all manifestations of killing.
The engine is smoking.
And we are choking.
The chassis is crumbling.
The seats are all worn down.
Let's get off this old and rusted bus,
it's past its sell by date.
Too late to contemplate patching it together.
Let's make one new that rides
a warming heart felt tide.
Distil a brew of spirit mellow wild.
Refresh the spirit of the centuries tired.
Make the casket great.
Reinstate the good that is within.
Mix it with what matters
Till the gold shines true as true.
Off The Bus
2004 ©