From: Rebekah Jordan
Tuesday, 3 am, once again I‘m wide awake
waiting for time to mend this part of me that keeps on breaking.
Newspapers, I threw away. Washed the dishes in the sink.
3 a.m. on Tuesday, I have too much time to think.
And I could call up to heaven;
I could crawl down through hell.
Nothing can change the way things are,
and nothing ever will.
He thinks I can‘t hear him cry,
And I pretend that I don‘t know, oh,
About all the 3ams he spends wrestling with your ghost.
I hear him call up to heaven,
I watch him crawl down through hell.
He still can‘t get over you,
I know he never will.
Nothing he says can bring you back,
He‘s got nothing left to show
But a pocket watch and memory
Of a kiss out in the snow.
And I hear him call out to heaven
I watch him crawl down through hell
He still can‘t get over you
I know he never will
I hear him call out to heaven,
I watch him crawl down through hell
He still can‘t get over you
I know he never will.