tonight some drunk guy stumbles on the northbound Negley bus
and he fumbles for the fare that he knows isn’t there
and a grey-haired older lady asks him just how much he’s short
and he mumbles, “‘bout a dollar, ma’am,” and I think he means a quart
+++++ and though she eyes the outlined bottle in the brown bag in his black hand
+++++ she digs him up four quarters from the bottom of her purse, and
+++++ I’m smiling at the funny way love always seems to come around…

I was coming from a concert that had blown me away
God, if I could play guitar like that, I’d trade in my left… anyway,
I’d danced there in the aisles with strangers and the like
thinking, “Toto, we are not in Kansas…This ain’t no church open mic”
+++++ and I walked out to the bus stop and struck up a conversation
+++++ with a single mother, just off work, who shared my destination
+++++ spied a snapshot of her baby girl, and funny how love comes around…
+++ maybe not the way we wanted, surely not the way we’d planned
+++ it’s the hunter, not the hunted, it won’t show up on demand
+++ and there were times when I’ve run from it, ‘cause I didn’t understand
+++ but it always comes around, again…

now heaven’s any place the Holy has a word with you
and it might just be a dance hall, or a gutter, or a pew
and Jesus Christ is downtown, and he’s drunk as hell
he is waltzing past the courthouse, and he threw up in a stairwell
+++++ and he’s looking for his namesakes, searching for the saints
+++++ ‘cause they’ve missed him, and they’ve missed him,
+++++ and they’re missing him again
+++++ and he joins the blind panhandler singing,
+++++ “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound”
+++++ yeah, he’s chuckling with the crackheads,
+++++ and the hookers, and the strange
+++++ trading back slaps with old ladies
+++++ who are easy with their change, and they say
+++++ how about the funny way love always seems to come around…