Even if the wheels are stuck in eternal rotation with seldom thought to their well-being or gratitude for moving the bus they are attached to, you must stop to think for a second just how much these wheels have gone through, and yet they still continue to spin. They’ve gone through a gauntlet of weather, children, and demonic rituals and yet they still persevere. Perhaps this perseverance is forced, but this does not take from the fact that these wheels are a icon of doing whatever it takes for a reward of absolutely nothing. In the end, anyway, nothing is all that matters.
These wheels do not show the children who sing their song slavery, they instead show the reward of life, and how eventually they too will turn into a never-ending cycle of a day job, and how they will waste the rest of their life away doing work that only really matters in a world where work is plentiful. These children are not being malformed by this joyful carol they sing, they are instead being taught the truthfulness of life, of which is brought upon all that is, and all that will be. The wheels on the bus do go round and round, and eventually, these kids will too.
One of them will break the cycle. But history has shown that breaking the cycle never ends well. As these children sing this song, it is pushing a terrible but required agenda on how they must live their life, lest they become a target for those who disagree. Maybe cruel, maybe terrible, but life is how it must be.
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.