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Pleasantly Separated - The Lords of Midlothian

The lights all pass by at a high rate of speed, The feelings I've collected are burying me, The way the wind's blowing, it makes me feel free. And there's no way that I'd rather be. That I'd rather be. Pleasantly separated from what I know, The puppeteer has dropped his strings so I can go, Nothing left to explain to anyone, No excuses to be made. To be made. You let it all hit you, you let it sink in, You hope it ends better than the way it begins, You hope something good comes from all of these sins, And you pray for the day where a loser might win, where a loser might win. Pleasantly separated from what I know, The puppeteer has dropped his strings so I can go, Nothing left to explain to anyone, No excuses to be made. To be made.