Nita Whitaker Tuesday 3:00am
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.
