When I grow up

Dad drives a taxi, he’s tired but chatty
And mam is a doctor, she saves lots of lives
My brother assures me that he’ll be a builder
My sister, a pilot, flying planes through the skies

When they look to the future they all seem so certain
But truthfully, I really don’t have a clue
I’m quite good at hiding (as long as there’s curtains)
But I don’t think it counts as a job you can do

Maybe a cop or a thief or a dentist
A singer, an actor, a job I’ll regret?
Or maybe a job that exists in the future
An astronaut psychic, or alien vet

For now, I’m content to remain undecided
Even my teacher has said to relax
As long as I’m kind then she says I’ll be happy—
Plus with jobs there’s a monster she calls Income Tax.