I wait for the bus, in the night
It's been a while since I've gone on the bus
The bus route was never kind
To where I lived
So I avoided it, like the rest
For they are diseased
So I wait for the bus, on a rickety bench
The bench is old, seen better than worst
It feels familiar, can't pinpoint it
Why do I pay mind to the bench?
Pay mind to the road
The dark, dreary road
A cracked, gray road
The road that many drive on
Never thinking of the earth below
That took it's place
But still I wait, for that bus
That bus in the night
I know that when I see it, it'll be bright
The light will not blend in the night
There is no fog, thank god
Is what I'd think if I knew
Do we know or do we think we know?
I'm never sure, are you?
Who am I talking to?
Why do I ask questions?
Focus, there's a bus for you
But what is there to focus on?
I then see, with glamour
The beauty no one sees
No one cares for what they can't see
Yet I do because I know it
I feel it
I've felt it all the time
The night, it's more better than I thought
The clouds, they're crimson as blood
The blood that boils in passion
There I think to myself
How seconds become minutes
Minutes become hours
Hours become days
Days become weeks
Weeks to months
Months to years
Years to centuries
And as each second ticks by
I think of how worse the road becomes
How worse the bench becomes
How both will pass in time
Then I think about how I will pass
When, why, where, how...
What am I saying?
I'm young...but tired
Tired and alone
I think, as I look at my watch
Which shines so strong with the light of the street lamp
What is the watch really giving me?
It only feeds on the remains
There's nothing inside
Nothing but rage
Rage for those who left me here
Rage for those who brought me to be here
Rage for those who walk around me
Rage for those who care for me
Rage for those who stand behind glass realms
And most of all
Rage for the one that stands in front of it
But that rage is nothing
Nothing that helps me get by
By slowly letting me lose my mind
For you can't have a mind here
It's not right
Not sane
And as the sky turns with it's clouds
I feel as though that rage
That is nothing
Should be something
Why do I let it be nothing?
These things, they whither, but they are something
I should be something with nothing
Engulf the world with nothing, need be
Let them all face that truth
Instead of forcing it
Forcing it on me
Who did nothing
But see what they've saw
Feel what they've felt
Hear what they've heard
And yet be seen as nothing with nothing
Before I think any more
Another century comes by
And I'm taken back to find
That the bus I waited for in the night
Is coming close, very bright
In that light I remember why I don't let nothing be something
Because I am something with something
And everyone is something too
Something that feels nothing
When they should be something
These are the cycles
Of what happens
When waiting for a bus in the night
It's been a while since I've gone on the bus
The bus route was never kind
To where I lived
So I avoided it, like the rest
For they are diseased
So I wait for the bus, on a rickety bench
The bench is old, seen better than worst
It feels familiar, can't pinpoint it
Why do I pay mind to the bench?
Pay mind to the road
The dark, dreary road
A cracked, gray road
The road that many drive on
Never thinking of the earth below
That took it's place
But still I wait, for that bus
That bus in the night
I know that when I see it, it'll be bright
The light will not blend in the night
There is no fog, thank god
Is what I'd think if I knew
Do we know or do we think we know?
I'm never sure, are you?
Who am I talking to?
Why do I ask questions?
Focus, there's a bus for you
But what is there to focus on?
I then see, with glamour
The beauty no one sees
No one cares for what they can't see
Yet I do because I know it
I feel it
I've felt it all the time
The night, it's more better than I thought
The clouds, they're crimson as blood
The blood that boils in passion
There I think to myself
How seconds become minutes
Minutes become hours
Hours become days
Days become weeks
Weeks to months
Months to years
Years to centuries
And as each second ticks by
I think of how worse the road becomes
How worse the bench becomes
How both will pass in time
Then I think about how I will pass
When, why, where, how...
What am I saying?
I'm young...but tired
Tired and alone
I think, as I look at my watch
Which shines so strong with the light of the street lamp
What is the watch really giving me?
It only feeds on the remains
There's nothing inside
Nothing but rage
Rage for those who left me here
Rage for those who brought me to be here
Rage for those who walk around me
Rage for those who care for me
Rage for those who stand behind glass realms
And most of all
Rage for the one that stands in front of it
But that rage is nothing
Nothing that helps me get by
By slowly letting me lose my mind
For you can't have a mind here
It's not right
Not sane
And as the sky turns with it's clouds
I feel as though that rage
That is nothing
Should be something
Why do I let it be nothing?
These things, they whither, but they are something
I should be something with nothing
Engulf the world with nothing, need be
Let them all face that truth
Instead of forcing it
Forcing it on me
Who did nothing
But see what they've saw
Feel what they've felt
Hear what they've heard
And yet be seen as nothing with nothing
Before I think any more
Another century comes by
And I'm taken back to find
That the bus I waited for in the night
Is coming close, very bright
In that light I remember why I don't let nothing be something
Because I am something with something
And everyone is something too
Something that feels nothing
When they should be something
These are the cycles
Of what happens
When waiting for a bus in the night