At the bus stop
There is no bus
I hope there will be no bus
Otherwise there will be no us
I have a fear
But you don’t care
You are waiting for a bus

At the bus stop
I am covered by rust
In a cloud of dust
The bus will separate us
I would kill the bus driver
Or if I were a world designer
I would erase the bus

At the bus stop
I am looking for a glass
But it makes no sense to fuss
It’s coming, the bus
No chance for future
I am just an old piece of furniture
In your eyes

At the bus stop
My world has died
Maybe I cried
Fuck off
Dante could never dream of
That a circle of Inferno
Can be at a stop of a bus

© Alexey Potapov