You wake up in the morning, and you hear his voice; he's on the phone in just in the other room.
You only like to sleep in his worn out shirts; they're always soft and smell just like him too.
You tiptoe to the kitchen and the coffee's on—your favorite mug already at its side.
And I remember when we were just like that. Hey, Little Lover, darling, don't you cry.
You'll be alright in just a few more days.
He's not that far down the interstate, yet still you toss and turn yourself awake.
It's goodnight calls from a 3-star room—a bitter beer to calm your nerves again.
And I remember when we were just like that. And I can't stop the way we used to be.
It lives on in broken history now.
You wake up in the morning, and you hear his voice; he's on the phone in just the other room.
He loves you strong and he loves you well; he proves it more than I ever did myself, and someday soon, I know you'll take his name, and I'll be there still loving you the same.
And I remember when we were just like that.

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