Once, I used to dream of being free. br Of having the time to be me. br To bury my head in brilliant books br To try cooking food by celebrity cooks br To shave all my head and to grow a long beard br To write some new songs that are jerky and weird br To walk in the country just smelling the flowers br To stand in a rainstorm butt-naked for hours br To paint a huge canvas to hang in my hall br To learn keepie-uppies with my old football br To write my own novel br To make my own clothes br To follow a taxi wherever it goes br To grow my own salad br To sculpt my own head br To dance like a dervish br To make my own bread br To care for sick squirrels br To sleep for a week br To hop down the street like a one-legged freak br To eat my own toenails br To scratch like a dog br To pee in the garden instead of the bog br To dress like a lady br To climb a tall tree br To eat a whole cake of the finest French brie br To paint all my fingers br To learn to speak Thai br To try and drink all of my bathwater dry br To end all my sentences with ‘Daddio! ’ br To give vegetarianism a go br To cry till I laugh and br To laugh till I’m sore br To dress up in cling-film and crawl on the floor br To put lots of mustard on all that I ate br To practice until I can levitate br br One day I was sacked. br The world was mine. br And I hadn’t a clue what to do with my time.