The Last Bus
It’s the end of the day
And It’s time to take the last bus home
I’ve travelled this road for many years
And when it comes to my final stop
I doubt if I’ll shed any tears
I’ll press the bell and slip through the doors
I won’t travel on that bus any more.
At the end of the day
Nothing lasts forever
Every winter gives way to spring
And it’s time to hop off the bus and do my own thing
I won’t say goodbye because it’s not the sort of thing I do
I’ll just slip through the door and walk away
I don’t work there any more.
Still, it’s not really the end of the day
More like just the evening.
I can stay up late and have a lie in
And there won’t be an alarm clock making a din
I can go into town and sink a few pints
Then walk round the corner for the last bus home
I’ve a feeling I might do that some more.