10/8/95

                                   10/8/95
                                On a bus

Where does it come from
I never feel the breeze
The ill wind captures my day
And I'll be damned if you don't join me

There's a reason it's called my  will
And why I feel sick as it grows
I could make it wander off with a wave of my hand
But there are a thousand shades of gray
And I have yet to see them all.