Tuesday, 3 a.m
Tuesday, 3 a.m.
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 AM on Tuesday,
I have too much time to think.

And I could call up to heaven,
I could crawl down through hell,
Nothing changes the way things are
and nothing ever will.

He thinks I can't hear him crying
I pretend that I don't know,
or about all of those 3 AM's
he spends wrestling with your ghost.

I hear him call out to heaven,
I watch him crawl down through Hell,
He's not getting 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 memories of a kiss out in the snow.

I hear him call out to heaven,
I watch him crawl down through Hell.
He` not getting over you,
I know he never will.

I hear him call out to heaven,
I watch him crawl down through Hell.
He` not getting over you,
I know he never will.