Here I'm sitting on my bed
thinking about the dreams I had
about the past, about the present,
about the future and what will happen.

Maybe I'll be poor and live on the streets,
maybe I'll be drawer and paint lots of sheets,
maybe I'll get the most boring job,
maybe I'll be an arrogant snob.

(But couldn't I be in a world-famous band,
living my dream everyday in another land?
Would I get along with the fame
Seeing the yellow press giving me a wrong name?)

Hm, could I be a gardener, caring about plants,
giving them water and love with my hands?
To see the flowers growing that I am adoring,
would it be fine, but soon also boring?

Still I'm sitting on my bed,
Still thinking about the dreams I had,
about the past, about the present,
about the future and what will happen...