Ingrid Michaelson 3o6k56

    Ingrid Michaelson

    Highway 396p2d

    Ingrid Michaelson 3o6k56


    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.
    Compositor: Ingrid Ellen Egbert Michaelson (Ingrid Michaelson) (ASCAP)Editor: Spirit Catalogue Holdings S A R LECAD verificado obra #23212989 em 20/Abr/2024 com dados da UBEM

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