Leaving me, I'm sad and blue.
Left with nothing but a picture.
Third or fourth weekend in June, December seems to come too soon.

Will you wait until tomorrow? Will you wait until...

Head is swirling with the scene of you and him embraced in rapture.
Dirty, trying to come clean, but every thought I have obscene.

Will you wait until tomorrow? Will you wait until...

Quilted on my hands and feet, the needle dug in too deep.
Struck another shot up to 24 hours in June.

Will you wait until tomorrow? Will you wait tomorrow?
Will you wait until tomorrow? Will you wait tomorrow?