Nope, that wasnt't mine, so I'll keep waiting,
Sitting there on that rusty bench,
Nervous arms just a shaking.
People passing by, in front and behind,
Some sit, others rise to board their bus.
And there it goes, streaming to its destination.
But wait...here comes another.
Is it mine?
I hope so.
It's just never here on time.
Could be the traffic.
Or maybe the old bus driver.
He's been driving since the war ended,
And he still knows the way,
With that map of a brain.
But wait...here comes another.
Is it mine?
I hope so.
No, just the number 35 not the 42
Well, I best enjoy the sights,
Even though I see them everyday.
Old Dan's Diner near the megaplex,
Basking in it's retro glory.
And the burnt-out apartments across from the park,
Still housing some forgotten tenants.
But wait...here comes another.
Is it mine?
I hope so.
I think I'll just jump the subway,
Since I never have any tokens.
I'll give it just one more minute longer,
Before I vaccate my spot.
I'll know I'll be back tomorrow,
But I grow tired of waiting everyday.