On a highway along the Atlantic I'm rifling through these last 17 years

The radio waxes romantic. It's lullabies fill our eyes with tears



We don't say a word

There's nothing to say that hasn't been heard

And how you've grown my little bird

I'm regretting letting you fly



6 pounds and 7 ounces. A ball of bones and flesh and tears were you

Now your hands, your tiny pink hands, grew larger than my hands ever grew



We don't say a word

There's nothing to say that hasn't been heard

And how you've grown my little bird

I'm regretting letting you fly

I'm regretting letting you fly

I'm regretting letting you fly



On a highway. On a highway