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And the mysteries of love are not for us |
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It's the little things that are tearing us up |
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As the telephone emits a brittle sigh |
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Only one of us will reach it in time |
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What are you not telling me? |
|
What are you not telling me? |
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As I blow away the dandelion clock |
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Will the miracle reveal itself? |
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Like an amateur under the sickle moon |
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Did I give away control too soon? |
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Just bred for the birds in second hand furs |
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An occasional touch, an occasional word |
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No the mysteries of love are not for us |
|
It's the little things that are tearing us up |
|
What are you not telling me? |
|
What are you not telling me? |
|
What are you not telling me? |
|
What are you not telling me? |
