Leemonster:Lyrics-Another Bus Ride Pts 1 and 2

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Leemonster:Lyrics-Another Bus Ride Pts 1 and 2

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Another Bus Ride Pts. 1 & 2:
(Written by Leemonster)

"Hey reality,
How’ve things been?
I found myself riding the bus again.
Patience, hold on - a hard thing to keep attached.
When all this snow melts, silhouettes will be back.
Awkwardness in silence, sun blaring in my sight.
With icy feet, no traction and a sleepless, thought-filled night.
Schedules turn into towns, into cities with populations.
I’ll make escape it’s own world after a destroy and restoration.
Murmured conversations, holding in my piss and social breakout.
One button holding me back form tearing out and shouting.
This pass is almost up, maybe used it once or twice.
About a 50 dollar donation to the money pile under ice.
I have my hat and a bag full of items to occupy.
But my movement is belittled and it’s troubling to act sly.
Or coy or smooth, the tricky mysterious ways.
I can usually pull it off - but just can’t today.
The kids never shut up, too bad they’ve nothing to say.
Headaches push up mountains, at least they block the sunrays.
But now what can I trust to melt all the snow?
I should’ve waited to leave when the race started to go."

Another Bus Ride Pt 2

"Snow glistening the darkening day fall, I have reached agreement
between psychical and mental to allow myself the experience of
unbalanced reverse karma.
Somewhat decided by my own doings.
This day I chose to hold back.
The fence was almost down and all I needed was one more kick--
but I withheld the motion and walked back.
To make habit of this will change my character completely
and I wont allow that to happen.
These streets are lit like casinos where people bring money to burn,
and they know they have no chance of winning.
But they go anyway, for the fear of staying home grasping time with loneliness.
The turning signals and reflections of light are like blinking plane lights
and puffed cigarettes reflecting off a dirty pond.
Cars built up in line causing jams; holding folks back from their
hopeless bets which don’t even occur, because this is all metaphor.
But in it’s truest sense.
The bus builds more people and maybe I’m not the only one with these
observations, but maybe I am.
As it’s written, golden music plays, the kind you’d hear in the movies
where something devastating is about to occur.
The eerie feeling, that unsure vibe.
Maybe the most devastating thing to come about is the chance
for someone else or myself to be in experience of another
day of this one-time repetition.
Now the snow blankets the air like some ashes dancing in the wind,
or a foggy morning driving to the Catskills.
Less cars to surround with glow, creating a plunge into the dark
depths of highway.

How will it conclude?

Unknown because this page is almost through, filled on both sides
from the blue pen I swiped from those who killed convenience.
Some are asleep now and lights dim off then on.
One in here has awkward association from trying to come up with
character for myself, using some sort of mud to try and paint fine lines.
Graspy loud voices on the walkie talkie, more disturbing going over the
music. Drilling into my nerves. Flip the bus already.
Lead this anticipation for catastrophe up to something.
Like strapped to a chair with hairs plucked out one by one,
or more like being at gunpoint but the shooter not doing anything.
Just letting you wait and wait until-----------------------
you’re made to wait longer."

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