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My phone is empty every morning like I'm just a memory
Collectively shared by my friends on the other end of the country

Ever day is just a bad re-run
And I'm just no fun
I'm still feeling blue
But I guess that's what I'm used to

You don't pick up at all
I'm sick to my stomach and hollowed
My sister said there's always a way out
A hole in every plan that you might not want to patch up

And I'm still thinking about you
But I guess that's what I'm used to

You don't pick up at all
I'm sick to my stomach and hollowed
And I felt the strain
In the metal of my bed frame

And I'm still thinking about you
But I guess that's what I'm used to

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