I'm sitting here at work on a nice day
But I'm not sorry, don't want to complain
Friday afternoon, I'll soon be away
And this job really isn't a great strain
Those poor kids, many with a well-honed brain
From years of education, good results
What is there for them now? No, down the drain
With ambition, prosperity, just hulks
Sun-bleached on the beach, seen on depressed walks
Through beautiful nowhereland, every day
The same, the same old routine, lacking aim
Like my late teens, when catching train or bus
Just to get out, spending my dole money
On records, clothes...but at home, in the main
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