This waiting here for a bus
Is better than its coming
Every day it always does
As I daydream or kick some dirt
Or throw a rock or check my watch
Or catch my reflection
And it barely makes an impression
In the never-ending present

This working from the inside out
This stepping to the easel
Is going to run you into results
And then there's the materials
To see beyond your shoes
Reflected in the polish
And see some images of truth
Beautifully demolished
And it barely makes an impression
On the never-ending present

Steel yourself against the cold
Or look for semi-precious shade
When the bus crests that hill
Love and hate are just the same
Watching as the money drops
Every day it always does
Maybe there's a song in here
No, and in fact there never was
Nothing but a little expression
From the never ending present
Just me doing my impression
Of the never-ending present