Hospital Window, 4 A.M.

Vending machine hum, a flickering hall You're sleeping through the monitor's quiet call I count your breaths like I used to count stars From the back of our old rusted car The nurse brings coffee, says "go get some rest" But I stay folded in this plastic chair instead Your hand is paper, your ring's too loose I'm reading you the paper, all the boring news If morning comes, I'll learn to pray If morning comes, I'll say what I couldn't say The sky turns gray over parking lot lights You open your eyes and whisper "alright" Four in the morning, the world standing still And I'm holding on, I'm holding on, I always will