Maybe I should be a writer,
wroight a book and feel much brigter,
share my thoughts with the world
Or maybe I could be a film maker,
celluloid, more fun than paper,
you never see the scren's corners curl
Aah maybe then I could be a lover,
find a girl and win her over,
and tell her that she's the only one
But maybe then a philanderer,
I'd sneak around and lie to her,
and kid myself that I'm the happy one
I'm not looking over four leaf clover,
I'm just waiting for hell to freeze over
Maybe I should take the mike, (mic')
stand up tall like Michael Stipe,
and try to solve all the problems of the earth
Or maybe then I should sit back down,
scratch my chin and use my frown,
and try to figure out exactly what I'm worth
We'r estill building churches, burning books,
killing the babies to feed the cooks
Who said the world would turn out fair?
So I guess I'll dig myself a hole,
ask the devil if he wants my soul,
And do soemthing real like cut my hair
Ooh, "maybe this" and "maybe that",
it may be satin and it may be sack
won't really matter much in the end
May be my enemy, may be my friend?
I'd drive myself around the bend,
thanks for your time and ears to lend