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Written by Lou Reed & Mike Rathke |
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Well, you covered your tracks |
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And now I can't see you |
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You had your ashes scattered at sea |
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There's no grave to visit, no tombstone to look at |
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You were in the New York Times obituary |
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There's no record, no tape, no book, no movie |
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Some photographs and some memories |
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Sometimes I dial your phone number by mistake |
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And this is what I hear: |
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This is no longer a working number, baby |
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Please redial your call |
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This is no longer a working number |
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Your party doesn't live here anymore |
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This is no longer a working number |
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If you still require help |
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Stay on the line, and an operator |
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Will try to bail you out |
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I knew I should have seen you that Thursday |
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I knew I shouldn't have left |
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But you sounded so good, your spirits so up |
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I thought I'd see you next week |
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I say over and over if I had half a brain |
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If I had half a brain in my head |
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I wouldn't sit here, dialing a wrong number |
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And listening to what some recording said |
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This is no longer a working number |
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Please redial your call |
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This is no longer a working number |
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Your party doesn't live here anymore |
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This is no longer a working number |
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But if you still require help |
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Stay on the line, and an operator |
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Will try to bail you out |
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|
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I knew I should have written, written things down |
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I always say I'll never forget |
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Who can forget a one-eyed pilot? |
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Who's a concert pianist? |
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A painter, a poet, songwriter supreme |
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My friends are blending in my head |
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They're melting into one great spirit |
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And that spirit isn't dead |
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Now, I may not remember everything that you said |
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But I remember all the sings you've done |
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And not a day goes by, not an hour |
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When I don't try to be like you |
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You were gassed, stoked, and rarin' to go |
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And you were that way all the time |
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So I guess you know why I'm laughing at myselves |
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Every time I dial the wrong line |
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This is no longer a working number, baby |
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This is no longer a working number |
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