All our hi's and good-bye's are great.
What happens between is what worries me.
Never know just how to talk to you.
There's too much hope in my voice.
I ask too many questions - and, I never mention myself.
You're busy planting flowers your dog digs up.
You're busy sketching ideas on how to make a shack a castle.
When you get the spirit to build again,
I see your tug-of-war through this telescope.
All you see are your mistakes.
The tone of your voice keeps getting quieter and quieter.
And, in the storms of my excuse me's and confusion,
I think I finally hear a piece of what you mean.
These words stand between us.
Your whole life is governed by your nightmares and your daydreams.
Someday soon I hope one of these dreams will finally come true;
then you'll have to listen to me.
By then, I'll be tongue-tied.
