Lyrics: Wyatt Cross
Music: Wyatt Cross
Producer：Wyatt Cross
【未经Copyright人许可不得翻唱翻录或使用】
Ice bucket sweating on the TV stand
Neon phone book with a broken spine
Suit coat hanging from a picture nail
Bedspread pattern older than mine
Half a sandwich in a paper sack
Traffic whispering along the interstate
One ring left on a finger tan
Too late to be early
Too early to be late
This is what the middle looks like now
Coffee gone cold in a one key town
Too far from the man I meant to be
Too close to the boy I had to leave
Curtains breathing in an August wind
Room 217 at the Wayside Inn
Kids’faces in a cracked screen glow
Missed a call three exits back
Her voice on voicemail saying
Call me when you can
I let it play
Then I just let it lapse
There is a Bible in the drawer
Name in the front
Some tired traveler from 83
I write my own beside his faded ink
Two strangers praying for a little reprieve
This is what the middle looks like now
Coffee gone cold in a one key town
Too far from the man I meant to be
Too close to the boy I had to leave
Curtains breathing in an August wind
Room 217 at the Wayside Inn
I thought by now the road would make some sense
Turns out it just circles what you never mend
I raise a plastic cup to the man in the mirror
Say
You ain’t done yet
But you ain’t getting younger
Friend
This is what the middle looks like now
Coffee gone cold in a one key town
Too far from the man I meant to be
Still learning how to stay
How to grieve
Curtains breathing like they are counting ten
Room 217 at the Wayside Inn
Yeah
One more night
At the Wayside Inn