The answering machine:
Summer feels cold, now that you’re gone. And every time I pick up the phone, I don’t know what to say, even though I know you won’t answer. That you can’t answer. I used to hate the sound of your voice, and now it’s all I wanna hear. I dial your number, wanting to know you’re okay. Three beeps. no voice. No heartbeat. Just three little beeps. And all I get is the answering machine. Your answering machine.