I don't carry a briefcase - i swing my empty arms
i don't carry an attache - my head's up in the clouds
I don't wear a beeper - I keep loose track of time
Some say that I'm their teacher - wish that they were so inclined
The busybodies huddle and talk about me
And throw some admiration - but don't have time for tea...
Did I hear them say I'm "free"?
I don't have a lover though I've turned some heads
I don't have any children and i don't have (m)any debts
The suits and ties ignore me as they rush from 9 - 5
and they watch me from the busstop with envy in their eyes
I see the weary workers toiling away - praying for tomorrow to take them through today
I bump into an acquaintance in this
version of hell at the pillars of monotany -
She says to me "my, you're looking well!"
I don't have a briefcase - I swing my arms
I don't have an attache - my head's up in the stars, as I
pass the rising concrete reaching up high I
see the weary workers
And I go walking by