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The Bus to Nevermore

The snow lay deep on the countryside
When they left to catch the bus,
Heading out to Milwaukee, first
They left New York in their dust,
The guys were happy and laughing then
To be off on the winter tour,
The pickers picked and the jokers joked
On the bus to Nevermore.

They'd had a couple of hits or three
And they'd topped the charts with one,
The kids were mad for their rock 'n roll
At each auditorium,
The towns they travelled were tiny towns
But the audiences roared,
They rocked Kenosha, then headed out
On the bus to Nevermore.

The heater failed and the bus, it froze
And the smiles then died away,
They huddled up in the cold and dark
But they played each town by day,
They switched their buses, more than once
When the diesel ceased its roar,
But every bus in its turn was just
The bus to Nevermore.

The bus broke down on a lonely road
As the snow fell through the night,
The fields were a winter wonderland
But the cold began to bite,
By the time that a roving patrolman
Found the bus, they were more than sore,
The drummer suffered from frostbite
On the bus to Nevermore.

The tour was running in circles
From Wisconsin to Iowa,
To Minnesota and back again
But nobody seemed to care,
Except the fellows that rode the bus,
Each day they cursed and swore,
'This bus is part of the Devil's fleet!
The bus to Nevermore.'

Tired and dirty and cold they drove
To Appleton, Green Bay,
Then overnight they had huddled up
For the trip to Clear Lake,
They played the show in their crumpled clothes
While they thought of the bus's roar,
But three decided they'd had enough
Of the bus to Nevermore.

They grabbed a lift to the airport there,
And hired a private plane,
To fly them to Minnesota in
The snow, or the driving rain,
They didn't care, they were near despair
With the cold in the bus, and more,
They could fly ahead, not having the dread
Of the bus to Nevermore.

They laughed at the Mason City field
As the plane took off in the night,
'We're gonna be rich, and cut some discs
When this tour is over - Right? '
They looked back down at the bus on the ground
Where they'd left it, then they swore,
They'd never go back on that bus again,
The bus to Nevermore.

The plane was found in a farmer's field
At daylight, in the corn,
Their bodies lay in the snow that day
And left the world to mourn,
He'd said it well in that final cut
When he sang it, once before,
To our Lonesome Tears as he said, 'I guess
It don't matter anymore.'

20 February 2009

(50th Anniversary of the plane crash that killed
Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper,
3 February 1959) .

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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