By Harsita Hiya
I say I want to sing a song
My friends they
Push me on a stage and tell me I sound
"So very much like Ronan Keating"
I say I want to hunt, to shoot
My boss he tells me
"Go for the geese, if you really must
The partridges are always a little too tricky"
I say I want to fly
My mother she vehemently insists
"Son, what you're missing is a nice red cape, Shall I go right now, stitch a brand new one?"
I say I want to kiss a man
And I stand there waving at one, at all
At every wall, Ice Cold, standing tall,
As no one turns to look my way.