My father has always been a bricklayer
He hates those who complain, those who stay silent, the optimists
He always has little time for love
And all the other things invented by the communists
His surveyor's diploma has been hanging in the attic for twenty years
In a dusty display case
And as a child, I too dreamed of having
A display case that said I can do something, ye ye

He would have wanted me to
Study architecture
Or become an engineer
But I wanted to be a musician
I spent my evenings playing the guitar
I remember one day he took me aside
He told me "You don't understand a damn thing about life
Because only those who get their hands dirty
Are granted the privilege of having a clean conscience"

Yes, but I'm not like you
What do you know about what I'll be
Yes, but I'm not like you-e-e
Make sure you never forget it

I was a bit like a Jehovah's Witness
My future often rang the doorbell
And I didn't even try to open it
Just to become an engineer or an architect
I wanted to make people cry
And in front of bricks, no one is moved
Because houses are just boxes
Where people take refuge when it rains outside
And then one day I went to London
It was to study music at the University
And during the years, between one exam and another
I often thought back to my father's words

Yes, but I'm not like you
What do you know about what I'll be
Yes, but I'm not like you-e-e
Make sure you never forget it

And now I too have an attic
And a piece of paper in a clean display case
And I'm not an architect or an engineer
My father has somehow accepted my life
I told him I'm not like you
I'm different, I'm better
But songs are just boxes
Where people take refuge
When it rains outside

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