It's costly to become a poor imitation of yourself
To the point you don't even recognize yourself anymore
Today I'm a hundred and thirty years old
That wasn't in my plans, you know disorder is tenacious
So many ties, so many restraints, the controls, pretensions
Nothing matters if the wind doesn't blow
That wind beneath my wings
I don't control anything anymore
I know it's high, but I'm gonna jump
And where will they end up?
And where will they end up?
Decided, I'm not going back home
Home, the body and all the words
That willpower can think up
The wind beneath my wings carries on
I don't control anything anymore
I know it's high, but I'm gonna jump
And where will they end up?
And where will they end up?