I could be the driver an articulated lorry I could be a poet I wouldn't need to worry I could be a teacher in a classroom full of scholars I could be the sergeant in a squadron full of wallahs What a waste What a waste What a waste What a waste
Because I chose to play the fool in a six-piece band, First-night nerves every one-night stand. I should be glad to be so inclined. What a waste! What a waste! But I don't mind.
I could be a lawyer with strategems and ruses I could be a doctor with poultices and bruises I could be a writer with a growing reputation I could be the ticket man at Fulham Broadway Station
What a waste
I could be the catalyst that sparks the revolution I could be an inmate in a long-term institution I could dream to wide extremes, I could do or die I could yawn and be withdrawn and watch the world go by