It was hard to see his face that night,
As he stumbled to the seat,
But as the moon shone through the clouds,
I recognized his feet,
This man had done a thing to me,
Though I will not tell it now,
Not because of it’s vulgarness,
Because my time will not allow,
I knew the bus he waited for,
And how it had just come,
To tell this to this man I hate,
Would be too good for some,
As I sat there waiting quietly,
Looking at the coming light,
I thought it may be my bus now,
Just then my mind was filled with fright,
For now I’m sitting in a waiting room,
Waiting for the things in store,
The person waiting next to me,
Says we’re waiting on the Lord,
He’s here to judge the nations,
And he’ll see inside your heart,
Every emotion you’ve ever felt,
And everything you’ve ever thought,
I asked him how I made it here,
I don’t remember dying,
But just as I had asked him this,
My ears were filled with crying,
I’d went back in time to see,
My waiting on the ride,
But when this man had come to sit,
I’d walked away with pride,
I hadn’t even noticed,
That I’d walked into the street,
And before I could blink my eyes,
The pavement I did meet,
And now I’m waiting for the Lord,
What will my sentence be,
For this hate that has driven me,
Will not let me walk free.