The Fine Art of Letting Go

A Buddhist blues.

Before I go out on the road again,
There’s one thing I’d like you to know.
You took me in like a long lost friend,
When I was a stranger, with nowhere to go.
Now, some friends come easy as kissing a pretty girl.
Others come shy and come slow.
But the only thing sweeter than making a friend
Is the fine art of letting him go.

I carry this picture, I’ll show to you
Of a woman I used to call dear.
She lived at so high an altitude
That she never could see me, way down here.
One day, she just lit out on the wind —
I still feel her whenever it blows.
And the only thing sweeter than falling in love
Is the fine art of letting it go.

I used to think Time was a friend to me,
But now, we go our separate ways.
I ain’t the man that I used to be.
I ain’t sure, any more, if I ever was.
A young man’s a canvas just waiting for painting.
An old man’s been bought and been sold.
But my youth keeps returning,
The more I keep learning
The fine art of letting it go.

It’s a strange kind of circle we make in life,
Coming back to the ease of a child.
I’ve filled these years like a jug of wine,
And when the jug’s empty, I’ll die with a smile.
We come into this world naked, they say,
And we leave it with only our clothes.
And the very last lesson I’ll learn in this life,
Is the fine art of letting it go.

Words and music © 1993 by Steve Brooks and Frog Records
(512) 440-7668
[email protected]
www.stevebrooks.net

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