I think I recognize something
In the way we meander through out lifetime,
Steering headstrong into the flow of traffic
Like a drug addict craving his narcotic;
The horns forever singing out a senseless rhyme.

And everybody knows the taxi-man
How he drives as though possessed by demons,
Reckless and heartless he makes us rage
"Who let this crazed animal out of his cage?!";
Alas, there are as so few answers as there is reason.

And everybody pities the taxi-man
Seated forever on his leather throne,
Driving it seems, just about everywhere
But really never getting anywhere;
For such men, there can be no real home.

And everybody laments to the taxi-man
Like he's a psychiatrist on wheels,
A sponge that absorbs ones' bad vibrations
To eventually scatter them in all directions;
He always listens, but does he really feel?

And perhaps everybody is this taxi-man
Travelling the highways of human existence,
Driving to only temporary destinations,
Passenger and driver, our human manifestation;
Heading towards a mirage in the distance.


Copyright 1988 Hans Raffelt, All Rights Reserved.

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