Wait

A love song built around a single repeated plea, this track traces a relationship from a rushed, headlong beginning to something steadier and more costly. The opening verse admits to jumping the gun, to loving someone before knowing quite why, and the confession lands with a shrug rather than a resolution. Then comes the turn: a second look at the same eyes brings tears and the fear of having nearly lost what mattered most, and the singer names his wife directly, promising to lay down his life for her. The chorus is the song's anchor, a short set of instructions — hold your breath, hold that heart — repeated like a promise across distance, with the assurance that he won't be long and that he's coming home. Between those refrains, wordless na-na-na lines carry the melody where more words would only get in the way. What holds the whole thing together is patience: the waiting that the title names is not passive but deliberate, a choice to stay faithful while apart. The song ends still waiting, still repeating the same vow, which is the point.