I am rolling.
One, two, three, four.
You're a bluebird, frail and soft.
I turned you into an albatross.
When I said, darling, you should.
You should really learn to be alone.
You were halfway across the continent.
Before I ever learned you were alone.
Trembling feathers, emptiness.
It's oh, some fly south, but you went west.
And I just pressed my chest to all the pretty things.
Pretty things you bailed out on.
I used to open all the windows and the crooked hopes I'd hear your song.
Some sailor thinks letting go.
I suppose I'm fooling for believing that it isn't so.
Girls in trade wins on the rise.
All the darkest of the clouds are shaking hands up in the skies.
And still your little wings stay steady, always ready for what lies ahead.
I'm making solace of my worries, building patience of my false regret.
Some sailor thinks letting go.
I suppose I'm fooling for believing that it isn't so.
And if the tempest and typhoons keep me far away from you,
I know that I'll get better, I'll be better.
And if the tempest and typhoons prove impossible to break through,
I'll be for my lack of a tryin'.
Some sailor thinks letting go.
I suppose I'm fooling for believing that it isn't so.
