Up from the garden you float.
We have a lot to let go.
All on the heat of the wind;
we are all tied at the toes.

For the good of my mind in the autumn,
for keeping me on top of the water,
I put up a front of industry,
and bind myself fast to the office.

All my friends are flying north, like birds that leave for winter.
Packing bags and taking off; they take my feathers with them.
Scattering among the clouds, and I can hear them singing.
All my friends are flying north, oh, on the wind, on the wind.

When the days drag out, and numb my thoughts,
when I cannot work here any more;
I’ll catch a plane; I’ll take my car.
I’m at home anywhere,
anywhere you are.

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