She sits on the bus stop bench, torn, bruised and broken waiting... All the violence and pain creeps up on her and drives by.
She's still waiting, sitting, dreaming of that day when it stops and picks up her and her dream.
The dream to get away for a minute, jump on the number 10 and never look back. The dark alley ways, they'll just get darker, she wont be there though. She wont die there, she'll get on her bus and go.
Every stop gets brighter and brighter, she'll pick up wisdom between here and there. The ride yes it's bumpy, hot and sometimes crowded, but across the way she will find warmth, in an other person's eyes.
The bus stop. The bench is broken and scarred, but a memory and dream is born there everyday, by two or three hundred dreamers who hold the same dream of getting away and being free.
To a place far away from the darkness. Somewhere to run and play.
Just think it all started one single day when a woman sat down on the bench and prayed that she would someday find away where things would be okay... At the bus stop, look for me, dreaming of a place.. where we can all be free.
xxx
