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.