Monday, April 9, 2012

I was walking in a summer rain
I found a ticket for a bus trip far away
But the driving rain made the ink run, and washed it as a black stain
I took it to the bus driver, my last chance to escape far away
He laughed and said it was no good
I pleaded and asked what hope there was under broken clouds
The bus driver closed the door and turned round in a diesel sky
Two passengers looked at me: one fat, the other thin
Neither cared, I could feel a sinking distance from their driving eyes


Swirling Regret said...

Human Paradox said...

I like the flow of this SC.