The wheels of the bus spin round and round

And the people on the bus hang upside down

And the smoke from the bus floats through the air

And the blood from the bus pools under there

And the people from the papers go ‘click click click’

With a glee for the headlines which is frankly sick

And the driver from the bus hangs through the glass

And the head of the driver lies in the grass

The police turn up late because nobody called

With a superficial show of being quite appalled

The ambos turn up later with a weary air

They have nothing to do because there’s no life there.

They’ll say that the driver was a hopeless drunk

They’ll say that the bus was a load of junk

They’ll say that the street needed much repair

They’ll say that such things are extremely rare.

 

And after all this business that’s extremely rare

The eyes of the world will turn elsewhere

And the families of the people will mourn their dead

While the world waits agog for the next bloodshed.

 

 

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