It's hard to speak when there's nothing to say -
only the way your eyes meet mine;
there's nothing to think of during the day -
how your eyes shine.

It's foolish to play with fire, I know;
what on earth am I thinking of,
hesitating before I go,
in love with love.

And yet that tingling of the skin,
the tenseness when you're near,
life should be this interesting
if it weren't so dear.