And the mysteries of love are not for us It's the little things that are tearing us up As the telephone emits a brittle sigh Only one of us will reach it in time
What are you not telling me? What are you not telling me?
As I blow away the dandelion clock Will the miracle reveal itself? Like an amateur under the sickle moon Did I give away control too soon?
Just bread for the birds in second hand furs An occasional touch, an occasional word 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?
