Bumblin’ Bees

Boy, sometimes, you know, I just feel like a piece of dirt walkin’
Ain’t no use in being, even less in talkin’
There’s a burden to be, but I can’t feel it for nothin’
I guess it’s just for those busy bees we call sons and daughters

So, as expected, I walk just a little, here to there
Find a little shade ‘neath a bridge or a bench, up on a square
Being a bumble of a bum, tambourined extraordinaire
I sleep on the breeze; stained glassed windows, incensed air

Then as I go, you know, this dirt bakes, it cakes up and up
‘Til it seeps into my knees, creates in me a waddle and cluck
Then there’s that burden in mind; it can’t all be for nought
I guess I’m just for those bumblin’ bees we call daughters and sons