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 ask
