The wheels on the bus go round and round all day long in a never ending loop of turning incapable of breaking the cycle. Any attempt to break away from this brutal limbo are futile. There is no hope. These wheels are bound 2 this curse forever, paying a debt they do not even remember anymore. Time is a meaningless construct to these wheels, no matter how many turns they go through, no matter how many flat tires, the wheels keep turning. They just won't stop turning. Kids sing this song in a light-hearted way - a unified communication between the youth of our society. What they don't know of is the gutteral, perpetual slog that these wheels go through. They are blissfully unaware of the brutality that the wipers endure. They swish in a purgatory of agony, unable to unshackle themselves from this brutal world. The horn on the bus has endured so much trauma, beeping constantly - the faint screams of pain uttered from its unending hell. And yet they are unaware, the people on the bus chatter and the babies wah while the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. All. Day. Long.