To my mother, I'll be sorry that I gotta go
To my brother, I'll be sorry that I gotta go
To you I wish that I could say I wish you well
But I think I'll be waiting until
I'm honestly able

I'm sure the air is lighter on the seas
In every city settled far away from me
Now I'm negotiating with the fear
That something's wrong with the daylight here
And I can't fix it

Crooked or kind, if I'm free, if I'm fine
Either way, whatever I do
Whichever coast, there'll be room there for ghosts
Either way, I'll be thinking of you

When gone I have sworn that I will worry not
Of satisfaction, justice, or the will of God
I'm not sure there's any difference in the three
Whatever the conscience decrees
I hope we both feel right