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