I've been sleeping with the lights on, buried in regrets, breaking into sweats, naked as
a falling leaf. Well, it's a natural reaction, driven to distraction, quiet, the ghosts will
never meet. Oh, and I don't know where they go, when they vanish in the corners of my eyes.
And I don't know why, I don't know, if they stay below, they rise up to the sky.
But I'm letting go, I'm letting go, it's a history, that never really grows.
I'm letting go, I'm letting go, it's a silent wind, that never really blows. I'm letting go.
I'm a slave without a master, heading for disaster, kicking up the dust in the middle
of the road. I've been waiting on a free ride, ticket to a seaside, thicket on the edge of
Puget Sound. I'm a slave without a master, heading for disaster, kicking up the dust
in the middle of the road. I've been waiting on a free ride, ticket to a seaside, thicket
on the edge of Puget Sound. There I'll sit, and I'll admit, that I was only just a guest
inside my skin. And by the dawn, I'll be gone, it won't be holding on to anything again.
But I'm letting go, I'm letting go, it's a history, that never really grows.
I'm letting go, I'm letting go, it's a silent wind, that never really blows.
Oh.
