Oh, the things I tangled up and gave
to the wind I loved,
oh, the strings I watched blow away --

just to know I held them once and
that they were taken for wanting.

Oh, the footsteps I could count watching,
somehow never starting up to follow,
knowing they were leaving --

just because I thought they never would,
just because I knew how to believe

in nothing. Because I could. Like words,
it can be anything you want,
like I thought I could.

And oh, the greatness of the vacancy,
the tightness of the strings untied and gone,
the angle of the memories just enough

to remind me what it takes to lose,
to remind me what I lost to wanting.