It’s a shame you can’t come with me
On my journey; that you are not able
To ride on the number sixty-three
The bus stop is my Tower of Babel
The bus stop is my Tower of Babel
With your keen eyes and curiosity
You taught me to sit at the top
When I was young. You showed me how to see
The world unfolding, from stop to stop
Pale green leaves unfurling on a tree
Like umbrellas, a fine head of hair
Two women arguing over a buggy
Yes, there would be so much to share
I view the world as if you were there
With similes I climb into the air
When I was young. You showed me how to see
The world unfolding, from stop to stop
Pale green leaves unfurling on a tree
Like umbrellas, a fine head of hair
Two women arguing over a buggy
Yes, there would be so much to share
I view the world as if you were there
With similes I climb into the air
Used to ride on Bournemouth's yellow trolley buses with my mum. On the top deck. The kid's favourite. She was endlessly curious about people and the world and she would have loved to see what I see, every day, on the way to work on the bus. I miss her.
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