A Seat On a Bus

There is a man of seventy on the bus,
Looking straight, looking around with distrust.
He clearly does not want to be here,
He wishes to be back in that memorable year.

No one today cares to give him a seat,
Ages ago, he commanded a fleet.
No respect for the graceful lines on his face,
All heroes, they say have to be replaced.

As the stranger confidently asks for a bribe,
The look in his eye, I wish I could describe.
Rage and pity quickly flash across his face,
He clears his throat, as he begins to pace.

I am sorry I cannot give you no more,
I gave you freedom, he begins to roar.
Don’t need you love, don’t need your seat,
I gave you victory, you made it a defeat.

The time when I was the toast of town,
When I never had to frown or ever back down.
The moment when I sailed to fight the war,
A million cheered as I stepped back ashore.

I don’t need your seat, I have had my day,
My million friends are the ones you betray.
Never knew that one day I will stand,
In this old bus, in my own land.