It's already moving—drums, bass, handclaps, tambourine, and horns have the floor before Diana even starts.

There she is: “I need love, love to ease my mind,” plain and out front, with no private corner for the ache.

Same lift on the next line—someone to call mine—while the groove keeps carrying her forward.

“But mama said”—the turn into someone else’s rule.

Love don't come easy, a game of give and take—those little side answers keep tugging at the edges while she keeps smiling through the count.

Hook again with the oohs tucked in—gentle on top, strict underneath.

Now the harder question: how many heartaches must I stand before a love lets me live again?

She's hangin' on with strength almost gone—and the band just stays upright under her.

“I remember mama said”—the counsel comes back like something she's rehearsing to herself.

Backing voices take the title line first this time, pulling her toward patience while she still leans into urgency.

How long must I wait, how much more can I take—loneliness headed straight for a heart that could break.

“No, I can't bear to live my life alone”—impatience out in the open now.

When she feels she can't go on, it's “these precious words” that keep her hangin' on—the rule as a lifeline, not a cure.

The groove barely loosens its grip through all of this—bass still moving, handclaps still bright. Steadiness is doing the dramatic work.

Chorus again—same rule, same wait—and it feels cumulative now, like a practice drill she can't skip.

Trust, give it time, no matter how long—and that sharp “Wait!” snaps from the side.

“No, love, love don't come easy”—then waiting and anticipating, still measured by the same pulse.

She's reaching for a soft voice at night, tender arms to hold her tight—fantasy close enough to pull the vocal forward.

I keep waiting, I keep on waiting—and the answers keep answering back that it ain't easy.

“It ain't easy, but mama said”—back into the rule one more time.

Final pass on you can't hurry love, trust, give it time—no matter how long it takes.

There—the hold eases. Pattern loosens and the track lets go soon after, still bright, still wanting.