You won't admit you love me.
And so how am I ever to know?
You always tell me
perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
A million times I've asked you,
and then I ask you over again,
you only answer
perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
If you can't make your mind up,
we'll never get started.
And I don't want to wind up
being parted, broken-hearted.
So if you really love me,
say yes.
But if you don't, dear, confess.
And please don't tell me
perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
