Tuesday, 3 A.M.,
Once again I'm wide awake.
Waiting for time to mend this part of me
that keeps on breaking.
Newpapers I threw away,
washed the dishes in the sink.
3 AM on Tuesday,
I have too much time to think.
And I could call up to heaven,
or I could crawl down to hell,
Nothing will 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,
or about all the 3 AM's
he spends wrestling with your ghost.
I hear him call out to heaven,
I watch him crawl down to Hell,
He still can't get over you,
I know he never will.
Nothing he says will bring you back,
He's got nothing left to show
But a pocket watch
and memories of a kiss out in the snow.
And I hear him call out to heaven,
I watch him crawl down to Hell.
He still can't get over you,
I know he never will.