sara stood up out of bednwas as high as she could getnbut the limit was the skynway back when she was a kidnnbut now she's hooked on the casinon'cause it's always an open windownthat keeps the wind in her sailsnwhile everything in life just failsnnshe used to be a swannnow that bird is long gonenflown from a propertynwith no equitynnsara buys the sunday papernshe likes to read wedding announcementsnis he the son of a doctornwell if so, i bet that choice please her fathernits not the same to tear wowsnnor the white picket fence housenbut the inenvitable partingnthe ending of the dream startingnnthe medication she's onnkeeps her moving alongnbut she's still afraid to singnafraid that she will be seennand look like a foolnlike she did in eighty twonwhen he finally told her the truthni found someone newnnand you may think it is patheticnsadness must be geneticnbut if someone shot you through your windownyeah you may live to feel the wind blownbut will you be able to stand up?nwalk around and throw your hands up?nand if those bullets fly againnwhat the hell will you do then?nnwhat the hell will you do then?nyeah, what the hell will you do then?