I was sitting at the bus stop
And was listening to that old man
with his theories and his stories
About the tax cut, or the lack of
Mumbling about that hair cut
Sometime back, it was drastic
Or something like that crap.
Who knew anything about that?
And I was sitting on that bus
Listening to some song in the back
You know, it said make love, not war
Must have been made
In some of those hellish times,
Or just these times of the present.
I guess I could understand a bit
I wouldn't want anyone trying
To corrupt my inspiration,
Mediatation and relaxation.
When everyone is tosssed
into the trash like a broken record.
Haven't I prostrate myself enough?
I may hate you sometimes
but I have just that craving
For some of that good old sisterhood
Without an auctual sister.