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.