I sat in the back of the bus,
And I knew every day he would come
With some new joke for us
Some quip about how dumb we were
I can still hear the laughter

And if I raised my hand
It would be twisted and turned
Until my eyes burned and
The pain was returned
Two fold, and my heart was scorching hot and freezing cold.

Too hot to be silent too cold to move
And one day I proved
Enough was enough
And beat him until he cried
Until my rage was satisfied
And his was forced to subside to fear

Now he sits in the back of the bus
And he knows every day I will come
With some new joke
To poke the wounds I made
That he gave me
Of which neither of us will ever be free

If only I'd said sorry.