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He's riding the plains living up to his name |
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As the next to the last true romantic |
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He knows that his story is tragic |
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But he can't rest |
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Till he's next to you |
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All the girls know his fame, the men curse his name |
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And they talk about him like he's magic |
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But he's the next to the last true romantic |
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And he can't rest |
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Til he's next |
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To you |
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He's stolen hearts like they're horses |
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And horses when hearts can't be found |
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He keeps riding from one horse to one horse |
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To one horse towns, it gets him down |
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He know's he's a fool to get caught up with you |
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But he's the next to the last true romantic |
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He can't let go of love once he's had it |
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And he can't rest |
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Till he's next to you |
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There's always whiskey and women |
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And women and whiskey around |
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He can't tell which is worse to be dying of thirst |
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Or to drown, it gets him down |
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So he smiles through the pain he pinch Estelle he dance with Jane |
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Sometimes even he don't know how he stands it |
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But he's the next to the last true romantic |
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And he can't rest |
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Till he's next to you |
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Well he can't rest |
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Till he's next to you |
