Flight, like birds take. You'll be up and gone by the next day. Soon our lives will be short one you. You'll go without leaving a note. You'll run away without stopping to explain. You won't have time for postcards. In vain, we'll check the mail. Then we'll rail against the heavens. What were you thinking to leave us? What sort of God would let you go? Is there any love without chains? It's nice to say that love's about release, that love will set us free, but lovers love to leave. The freedom we so embrace, is the freedom to set ourselves on fire.