Sneaking Around

How long are we going to tiptoe around each other?
We're afraid to speak our minds, afraid to look at one another.
Aren't my feelings stamped on my face with this grin?
Don't my eyes shine with all the love I hold within?

The story of my life is an open book to you.
Ask me anything, anything you want to.
I won't get mad, I won't falter, I won't lie.
I won't dance around the answer, won't ask why.

But will you open to me, since I've opened to you?
Tell me, love, what horrible things did she do?
Tell me where you want to go, tell me where you've been.
Tell me about the little deaths and the trouble you were in.

And still we don't understand.
Fear and ignorance go hand in hand.

My book is open, do you need a translation?
Or is your reading simply lacking motivation?
I may speak a foreign language, but actions are louder than words.
Have I done anything that you have heard?

How much longer?  How much farther will we tiptoe?
I don't know how many more days and miles I can go.
My open face, my open book, my open arms will talk.
But come down off your toes, and let's just walk.

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