Through the drizzle you can see them Huddled by the corner, sheltered in the store fronts. They are the lost, the lonely, the fragmented souls Waiting for the bus that never comes. The noise of the street fills the night. The flicker of light from a match that lights a cigarette. The rain comes harder and still they stand Waiting for the bus that never comes. Which way is freedom? Which way to go? Uncharted lives, lonely souls Huddled together like musk ox Waiting for the bus that never comes.