Another second,
Minute,
Hour on the clock
Reminds me the end is drawing nearer
And that, I cannot stop.

Twenty Six days left of your gaze that sees through me,
That sees through my facade of endless positivity.
Twenty Six days until the growing apart,
Until the increasing distance and the breaking of heart.
But see, Twenty Six days just isn't enough
Because, with you my darling, I'm still so much in love.

It saddens me deeply
To know you'll be gone
And you'll never be there
For me when it goes wrong.
The clock is ticking and
Every second that goes by
Is another less second
That I'll spend by your side.
I'm haunted by the thought
That you'll soon find another,
And you'll start out as friends
And then bloom into lovers.
Her hand will replace mine
And its place in your hair.
And when you get down
It'll be her who is there.
Her lips will replace mine
And their place on your chest
And it'll be her who reminds you
That, babe, you're the best.
Promise me one thing,
Just to never forget
The girl with the block fringe
Who is so happy you met.

A to B and A to B
Then back to A and back to B.
Monotonously making their way round the map
Taking Tom, ****, and Harry from A to B.

Oh, where would we be
Without the drivers who transport anyone that they see?
Enabling us to go about our lives no matter who or where we may be?

To allow old Mable to get out and about
Or old man Joe to leave the house.

To help adolescent Amy to see friends across town
And **** time for Doris by simply driving her around.

I know we complain that they so rarely smile
But think of how far they can take you, for miles.

I know we complain that at times they are late
And I know that the one guy made you miss your hot date

But think of that time you were saved from the rain
And how the bus helped you when your legs were in pain.

Think of that time you were saved from the exercise
Which we in 2015 do so despise.

This isn't ironic, it's a genuine ode
To the bus driver heroes to who I do owe.

I have a burning need to be adored
To hide the fact I'm insecure.
The guys I date all soon get bored
While deeper in love I seem to fall.

Today I cried because my arms are fat
And my eyes aren't pretty unless lined like a cat

I don't want to be the mousy brunette
Of average height and intellect

I want to be that edgy girl who rocks vintage clothes
And collects records, and reads, and looks like Bridget Bardot

Not good enough for you, but how can I forget
When my mind constantly replays the moment we met?