He was a songwriter Writing songs about a girl She was a ghostwriter Lying to the world In deep anticipation Of the day that she had written And by her own admission She'd be picked up, kissed and twirled
He was a fearful boy Watchful of the earth Worried that it might split apart And he wouldn't even hear it first He'd be caught in some position Like a broken, old physician And worst of all he feared that it would hurt
He's poured his heart out Is nothin' gonna come of that So when can he finally say
At last At last At last At last Oh, I thought you'd never ask
Oh, seven hundred letters She catalogued them all Dated them and numbered them And then hid them down below She would always keep 'em Once a year would read them Each time she'd be thinkin' Somehow, he must know
She's poured her heart out Is nothin' gonna come of that So when can she finally say
At last At last At last At last Oh, I thought you'd never ask
Outside of his apartment The night was blanketed in mist She stood lookin' up at his light And thinking' what it meant It meant that he was in there breathing What was it he was thinking It was of her she wished, she wished
They're pourin' their hearts out Is nothin' gonna come of that So when can they finally say
At last At last At last At last Oh, I thought you'd never ask
At last At last At last Oh, I thought you'd never askTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
