I'm a constellation trying to make out with you.
My eyes write a book on you that you will never read.
I try to concentrate
But it's just so hard with you around
And so I stand in line and wait for you to show.
Twenty-five thousand words to make you see that I still care
But you never seem to have the time to hear me out.
I'm sleeping by the phone.
I'm waiting for you to come home.
I try to translate my feelings.
Can't you tell?
Writer(s): Eric Rosenfeld, Giordano Bruno
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