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