Sitting on a bus, top deck,He looks down upon the populace,they look like a buch of wee specks,all milling about, scrofulous.Music blaring in his ears,the singer talking of her fears:Abandonment, betrayal through the years.He gazes into space, writes this piece,hoping that one day, she will find peace.Time to exit the bus now,navigate through the sow,pigs everywhere, through whom he'll plough. On another bus, he continues...