Looking out a dirty bus window,
watch unseeing faces underneath a gloomy sky I
sit on the top deck and wonder why.
.
.
.
Life is like a filthy waiting room, you may get a seat if you're lucky,
or you might not . A f**, a cup of coffee and that's yer lot.
(Always there from night until dawning, sit with you without any warning)
We're the Loonies in the Bus Station,
We're the Loonies in the Bus Station,
Everyone forget your returns and let's dance!
There are times I feel I'm a stranger,
on my own in a crowd and there's danger lurking there,
Stinking of stale urine and matted hair.
Here I am collecting old tickets,
nostalgic trips of an existence that wasn't mine,
Stained old trousers held up by bailer twine.
(Can you tell the ones they are fooling, is it you or the idiot drooling?)
The last bus has gone and you've missed it, Cold,
echoey night on the bench and you feel afraid Unfriendly
stares and dodging fares that were never paid.
Then I realise this is real life,
a terminus full of the lonely and the insane.
When I get my time round again I'll go by train!
(Nights are cold, the day's getting darker,
Old school bags are slung 'round a parka) Life
is like a filthy waiting room,
you may get a seat if you're lucky, or you might not .
A f**, a cup of coffee and that's yer lot.
(Always there from night until dawning, sit with you without any warning)
We're the Loonies in the Bus Station, We're the Loonies in the Bus Station,
Everyone forget your returns and let's dance!
There are times I feel I'm a stranger,
on my own in a crowd and there's danger lurking there,
Stinking of stale urine and matted hair.
Here I am collecting old tickets, nostalgic trips
of an existence that wasn't mine,
Stained old trousers held up by bailer twine.
(Can you tell the ones they are fooling, is it you or the idiot drooling?)
The last bus has gone and you've missed it, Cold,
echoey night on the bench and you feel afraid Unfriendly stares and
dodging fares that were never paid.
Then I realise this is real life,
a terminus full of the lonely and the insane.
When I get my time round again I'll go by train!
(Nights are cold, the day's getting darker, Old
school bags are slung 'round a parka)
watch unseeing faces underneath a gloomy sky I
sit on the top deck and wonder why.
.
.
.
Life is like a filthy waiting room, you may get a seat if you're lucky,
or you might not . A f**, a cup of coffee and that's yer lot.
(Always there from night until dawning, sit with you without any warning)
We're the Loonies in the Bus Station,
We're the Loonies in the Bus Station,
Everyone forget your returns and let's dance!
There are times I feel I'm a stranger,
on my own in a crowd and there's danger lurking there,
Stinking of stale urine and matted hair.
Here I am collecting old tickets,
nostalgic trips of an existence that wasn't mine,
Stained old trousers held up by bailer twine.
(Can you tell the ones they are fooling, is it you or the idiot drooling?)
The last bus has gone and you've missed it, Cold,
echoey night on the bench and you feel afraid Unfriendly
stares and dodging fares that were never paid.
Then I realise this is real life,
a terminus full of the lonely and the insane.
When I get my time round again I'll go by train!
(Nights are cold, the day's getting darker,
Old school bags are slung 'round a parka) Life
is like a filthy waiting room,
you may get a seat if you're lucky, or you might not .
A f**, a cup of coffee and that's yer lot.
(Always there from night until dawning, sit with you without any warning)
We're the Loonies in the Bus Station, We're the Loonies in the Bus Station,
Everyone forget your returns and let's dance!
There are times I feel I'm a stranger,
on my own in a crowd and there's danger lurking there,
Stinking of stale urine and matted hair.
Here I am collecting old tickets, nostalgic trips
of an existence that wasn't mine,
Stained old trousers held up by bailer twine.
(Can you tell the ones they are fooling, is it you or the idiot drooling?)
The last bus has gone and you've missed it, Cold,
echoey night on the bench and you feel afraid Unfriendly stares and
dodging fares that were never paid.
Then I realise this is real life,
a terminus full of the lonely and the insane.
When I get my time round again I'll go by train!
(Nights are cold, the day's getting darker, Old
school bags are slung 'round a parka)