[Instrumental] I’m sitting on the floor by the half-broken fan Phone face down, dead weight in my hand Your hoodie still hangs off the back of my chair I keep moving it like you’re still there I missed your call at 1:13 Now it’s just the voicemail and a screen full of me The hallway’s too quiet, the sink keeps on drippin’ I swear I can hear what I’m missing And I don’t know how to shut this off Every little thing in this room says we’re not I’m biting my tongue till it tastes like rust Acting like I’m fine is getting old as dust If you come back, don’t come back clean I need the mess, the wreck, the in-between ’Cause I’ve been folding myself into something small Just to fit in the hole you left in the wall I’m still here Too awake, too worn out Still here With your name in my mouth
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