[Verse 1]
Cold bars and colder mornings, you’re a town I cannot touch
I hold a paper photograph of us beneath this fluorescent hush
Cancer crawls under my skin, nights taste like bandage and rust
Single mama standing on chipped tile, counting hope and dust
Phone calls fray at the edges—midnight static and thin knives
They start soft and end in shouting, tearing up the quiet of our lives
I drown in these silent cries, while the baby sleeps and the clock ticks loud
Love frays on the end of midnight calls and empty bottles of wine on the ground
[Pre-Chorus]
Every ring is a gamble, every hello a trapdoor wide
Calls leave me ready to give up on life and love, I almost hide
You never let me talk — I always have to shut up, swallowed whole by time
I reach for you through prison glass, and you turn the light, refuse to mind
[Chorus]
Drew, do you hear me through these broken lines?
I’m holding on but losing time
The man I fell for at that Miles Motel—your hand warm in the rain
Now our love is a memory tangled in my veins
You don’t give me the chance, my voice is always shut away
I wear this regret like a talon, clawing at every day
Drew — the man at Miles Motel — don’t let this be goodbye
[Verse 2]
Regret sits on my shoulder like a friend who never learned to leave
I trusted other people’s whispers and they taught me how to bleed
You messed up too; we both have scars, but mine come with sleepless nights
Chemotherapy calendars, restraining orders of insurance fights
Your letters smell of cigarette smoke and the cheap soap of cells
Mine smell like laundry and the lullaby I sing when the storm swells
You never asked to hear my pain, so I fold it into the grocery lists
While your voice across the wire reduces me to fragments, small and dismissed
[Pre-Chorus - Variant]
Every call becomes an argument, a canyon where we used to be
You hang up like a verdict, like you never want me free
Calls leave me ready to give up on life and love, it’s more than just a line
You never let me talk — I always have to shut up — and I’ve run out of time
[Chorus - Variation]
Drew, can you feel the echo of everything I tried to save?
I’m tethered to a memory and a motel bed that tasted brave
The man I fell for at the Miles Motel now fades to static and to sigh
Our pictures curl like fevered paper under the heater’s failing light
You don’t let me speak my truth, you cut me off and close the door
I keep collecting all my pieces on the kitchen floor
Drew — the man at Miles Motel — don’t let this be goodbye
[Bridge - Confessional]
Remember the rain on the motel roof, you swore forever then and there
We were reckless, small, and starving, and you put flowers in my hair
I believed in that small miracle, I believed in reckless hearts
But I listened to the wrong advice and watched the map of us fall apart
I’m not asking you to fix my cancer, or the nights my mind unspools
I’m asking for the simple mercy of a moment when you let me be heard
You never let me talk — I always have to be—
