Here I am on a coach,
to somewhere distant,
and here I sit, here I sit with you,
and your humour,
it has been exhumed,
as if from a graveyard,
and here I sit trying to put up with it,
but it is not happening,
and funnily enough,
you do not make me laugh at all,
and you have such a strange sense of humour,
that a straitjacket for you should probably be called,
because your humour has been exhumed,
exhumed as if from a graveyard,
and here I sit,
here I sit trying to put up with it,
and it is difficult on a coach to somewhere distant,
and oh, how you ramble on,
more than just a bit,
how you ramble on far too much,
and seemingly never quit,
and I wish you would,
but there is no evidence,
and you continue to persist,
you continue to persist talking rubbish,
and unfortunately,
I am a captive of your lack of intellect and wit,
and the miles how they drag on so,
and far too slowly,
and oh, how I wish to go to sleep,
but you probably wouldn't notice,
and you would probably continue to talk to me,
in my sleep, and give me nightmares,
and I wish,
I wish that you did not exist,
for you have nothing of interest to say,
and oh,
oh, how boring is the day,
sat with you on my way,
on my way to somewhere distant,
and a place thankfully,
I will never see you again,
and here you go on,
waffling on about some other topic,
for you are like a scattergun,
and I hate to be rude, but you are a massive twit,
and oh God, here you go again,
and all I can do is pray to God,
and wish for an act of force majeure,
and for you to exit, to exit my life,
because you really are,
giving my hearing some strife,
and I am not quite sure I am alive,
or if I have gone to hell,
because this journey,
it seems never ending,
and well quite frankly,
quite frankly you bloody smell.