Shes writing, shes writing,
Shes writing a novel.
Shes writing, shes weaving,
Conceiving a plot.
It quickens, it thickens.
You cant put it down now.
It takes you, it shakes you,
It makes you lose your thought.
But youre caught in your own glory.
You are believing your own stories.
Writing your own headlines.
Ignoring your own deadlines.
But now youve gotta write them all again.
You think shes an open book,
But you dont know which page to turn to, do you?
You think shes an open book,
But you dont know which page to turn to, do you?
Do you? do you?
You want her, confront her.
Just open your window.
Unbolt it, unlock it,
Unfasten your latch.
You want it, confront it.
Just open your window.
All you really have to do is ask.
But youre caught in your own glory.
You are believing your own stories.
Timing your contractions.
Inventing small contraptions
That roll across your polished hardwood floors.
You think shes an open book,
But you dont know which page to turn to, do you?
You think shes an open book,
But you dont know which page to turn to, do you?
Do you? do you?
You think shes an open book,
But you dont know which page to turn to, do you?
Do you? do you? do you?
