Emergency Contact

Three a.m., a number that I didn't know,
a nurse said, "Sorry, ma'am, but he had you listed, so..."
We haven't talked since June, I gave you back your key,
but somewhere in your phone, you never let go of me.

Ninety on the highway, running every light,
telling myself you're not mine tonight.

We broke up in June, but I'm still your emergency contact,
you deleted every picture, but you never took that back.
If the worst thing ever happens, if your heart forgets to beat,
it's my name on the paper, it's my number on the sheet.
So say that it's over, say you're fine on your own,
but you kept me as your person in the back of your phone.

You're sleeping in a paper gown, a bandage on your hand,
the doctor says you're lucky, and I nod like I understand.
Your mother's on a plane, your friends are all asleep,
and I'm the one beside you, 'cause I'm the one you keep.

Holding your hand like I'm not allowed,
saying all the things I never said out loud.

We broke up in June, but I'm still your emergency contact,
you deleted every picture, but you never took that back.
If the worst thing ever happens, if your heart forgets to beat,
it's my name on the paper, it's my number on the sheet.
So say that it's over, say you're fine on your own,
but you kept me as your person in the back of your phone.

Maybe you forgot it, maybe you were scared,
maybe some small part of you just wanted me there.
And when you open up your eyes and see me in this chair,
don't say a word, I know, I know. I'm still there.

We broke up in June, but I'm still your emergency contact,
and you open up your eyes and say, "I was never taking it back."
If the worst thing ever happens, if your heart forgets to beat,
it's my name on the paper, it's my number on the sheet.
So don't say that it's over, 'cause we both already know,
you kept me as your person, 'cause you never let me go.

Emergency contact...
it was always me.