Like a bird on a buoy
there's a lot of wasted space
between me
and where I want to be.

The shore never looked as good
as when I couldn't see it anymore
but I'm too busy dreaming
about what's on the far side
of this divide to notice
I'm slipping away with the tide.

I'm singing my song far from the dry
river beds and nests in the sand
and not a soul can see my feathers
ruffle in the breeze.

I wouldn't have it any other way
because I'm finally far enough
away you can't see my colors
and think that's all I meant to be.