I don't know where I was going
I only know it was towards morning
I was driving a bus
Made entirely of porcelain
I was kneeling as I drove
The booth was small
I felt awfully bad
And the break kept flushing
And someone wouldn't stop kicking at the door
From outside during the ride
It's hard to believe it
In a porcelain bus
It's not the first time
I'm afraid I might die like a dog
My breath is colored
Like Polaroid photos
It's not the last time
It's not a pretty ride
And the world lifts up
Like the dashboard