My rout

Riding by bus every day back and forth to work
To people who don’t care, don’t give a damn
‘bout me and my little world.
Not even seeing anybody’s grief
I ride every day passing the same shit.
The same little girl in her daddy’s arms,
crying for no one, looking for the one,
The same women at the bus-stop talking, gossiping,
eating alive their husbands, ready to fight.
The same drivers, rude and inane,
Passengers, boiling in anger and shame,
The same rage, cell-phone tones,
The same boys and mothers,
The same radio voice.
And I live in the same mood, eat the same food,
like in the movie…
It is a circular rout.

But today there’s something wrong,
Something’s outer hands
On this rout I see today that not every one has gone insane.
Men and women pass me by not even looking at me,
But I see the way they move, I hear music, I feel the rhythm setting them free.
When I woke up in the morning,
Turned on some bit, fell into the groove
Every day doing the same things could I think of this being my rout?
And I’m walking like yesterday,
I’m running like the day before, like the after tomorrow
I’m going off at full score.

Hip-hop is in my mind. And music saves.
Rhythm's floating from the inside.
Rhymes reflect on my face.
Music is mine, it’s my life, it’s my soul.
This game is gotta be won
Get it out of control.