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.
