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Another dollar fifty, another ride on the bus |
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The seat left alone is still warm |
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The person next to me talks to me |
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As if he knows me |
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But that's okay, |
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I don't mind |
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I look out the window while he talks on |
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I do the usual try to figure out |
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What these people do in their own solitude |
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Some seem so plain, some seem so lonesome |
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Lost depressed and true, it's all inside of you |
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Wandering and waiting all your life |
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For something new to change you |
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But it all seems to turn in circles |
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Nothing's new finding |
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And learning all you need is something to guide you |
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Nothings stimulates no inspiration |
