Driver Driver
Driver Driver
Some bus pulled on out of a mid-western highway
Losing a race with the dawn
All of the riders were sleeping
All of the riders but one
And he had his face pressed on up to the window
Catching the warmth from the sun
He gazed over wheat fields and cornfields
And raised up his hand to his head as he thought
Driver Driver I am but a rider
I put my only life in your hands
Driver Driver I am but a rider
And here on this bus
You're the god of all of us
And I honestly hope you are kind
There sat beside him a younger girl
With a soft and a pendulous breast
And a cross on a chain and a dream on her lips
Of a more righteous place in the West
There sat behind him an older man
Dressed up in an old baseball hat
And a list in his shirt of the homeruns he'd hit
And a full color picture of him up at bat
Driver Driver I am but a rider
I put my only life in your hands
Driver Driver I am but a rider
And here on this bus
You're the god of all of us
And I honestly hope you are kind
The time of the year it was springtime
The time of the day it was early
The years of the rider were twenty and eight
As he turned to the lady beside him and he said to her
Lady I know I'm a stranger
Lady I don't mean you no harm
But I will write you a rhyme if you'll look in my eye
Tell me where we are going and what we will find
Driver Driver I am but a rider
I put my only life in your hands
Driver Driver I am but a rider
And here on this bus
You're the god of all of us
And I honestly hope that you are kind
Writer/s: Jay Bolotin
