It's About Love

 What's behind your eyes?

What's underneath your skin?

What's the look upon your countenance?

Won't you let me in?

It's about love. I don't understand it.

Everybody talks about it. I should know by now.

It's about love.

Each and every moment, there's a possibility.

It's about love. Let's just start it over.

Last time didn't count. It was a messy, false start.

It's about love.

We're finally in clover, and everything's so good,

‘til it all falls apart.

It's about love. It's about love. It's about love.

It's about love.

I don't have an answer. Ask another question.

Make it one that I might know.

It's about love.

'Cause baby's in the cradle, the children at the table,

And our hearts refuse to grow.

It's about love. It's about love. It's about love.

Shakespeare wrote the sonnets.

Ah, the poets charmed us so!

The face that launched a thousand ships,

Flaxen hair, scarlet lips…

The tintinnabulation of the bells,

Ah, the wedding bells.

And “How do I love thee? How do I love thee?”

In every moment, there's a possibility.

It's about love.

I'd like a new description. Include the contradiction,

the setbacks, and the pain.

It's about love.

‘Cause this is what I fear now, if weeks become a year now,

Then nothing will remain!

It's about love. It's about love. It's about love.

 It's about love. It's about love. Its about love. Its about love.

                                                                                                            ( What's behind your eyes?

                                                                                                            What's underneath your skin?

                                                                                                            Won't you tell me please?

                                                                                                             In every moment, there's a possibility.)