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Wake the Bear
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Now There Is No Mystery
In nineteen hundred eighty four
when you were just a girl,
I called you on the telephone
to visualize your world：
pink and preppy camisole,
wooden panel on the wall,
swear to god I saw it all
and never saw a thing.
Summertime in eighty-nine,
I passed the time and thought
I'd tear you from the pages of
the latest catalog.
Reading words upon your lips,
hold the curve along your hips;
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god, did I feel so alive
and never touched a thing.
Now there is no mystery.
Everything is there to see.
Now there is no mystery.
Today the things we share and see
don't have the same effect on me…
Tangled in your head of hair,
innocent and unaware.
Swore to god I'd get you,
you were never even there.
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