He raised his hand, for the last time she could stand, and the room was a grave that night.
She left a note, it said I'm not coming home.
It took courage but she took flight.

What are you really holding on to?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
It don't always move the way it ought to, but don't let the ground drag you around.

And these old wings, have been a long time, been a long time coming.
And these old wings just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings so I can see what these old broken things, what these old wings can do.

She sold the car, for eleven hundred bucks, and a bottle of something sweet.
She caught a train and counted seven stops and got off when she felt free

What are you really holding on to?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
It don't always move the way it ought to, but don't let the ground drag you around.

And these old wings, have been a long time, been a long time coming.
And these old wings just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings so I can see what these old broken things,
If these old wings can fly, fly, fly, old wings, high.

She found herself, where people go and gloom, for friends that are buried there.
She wrote a note, to god on a balloon, and watched as it disappeared.
What are you really holding on to?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
It don't always move the way it ought to, but don't let the ground drag you around.
And these old wings, have been a long time, been a long time coming.
And these old wings just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings so I can see what these old broken things, what these old wings can do