Under some dirty words on a dirty wall
|
Eating takeout by myself
|
I played the shows
|
Got back in the van and put the Walkman on
|
And you were playing
|
|
In some other dive a thousand miles away
|
I played a thousand times before
|
And like pathetic stars, the truck stops and the rock club walls
|
I always knew
|
You saw them too
|
But you never will again
|
|
It's too late
|
Don't you know
|
It's been too late
|
For a long time
|
|
Elliott, man, you played a fine guitar
|
And some dirty basketball
|
The songs you wrote
|
Got me through a lot
|
Just wanna tell you that
|
|
But it's too late
|
It's too late
|
No, don't you know
|
it's been too late
|
for a long time
|
|
Oh no
|
Things were looking up
|
Least that's what I heard
|
Oh no
|
Someone came and washed away your hard-earned
|
Peace of mind
|
|
When desperate static beats the silence up
|
A quiet truth to calm you down
|
The songs you wrote
|
Got me through a lot
|
Just wanna tell you that
|
|
But it's too late
|
It's too late
|
No, don't you know
|
It's been too late
|
For a long time
|
It's too late
|
It's too late
|
No, don't you know
|
It's been too late
|
For a long time
|
|
-----------------
|
Late
|
| Ben Folds |
