Floating to you

I'm in the bus stop.
And the bus doesn't come.
Hours passing like secconds,
and the fact that you there is keeping me calm.

After the red bus arrived,
I'm going up, the chair is painted in blue.
And I'm floating on the roads,
straight to you.

I'm pinning my head tight,
straight to the window pane.
And while I'm thinking of you,
I hear the sound of tearing rain.

I'm floating to you,
in the bus, painted in red.
Where I will find you,
and it will be good, no bad.

I'm floating to you,
floating to you,
on roads coloured in black.
Floating to you,
mile by mile,
comming back, yes, I'm comming back.
Floating to you,
all the way through,
keep on a regular distance course.
I'm comming to you,
on this floating bus,
and this is my only chours:
I'm floating to you.