You called me, you rang me, so many times,
Told me you loved me, but now it’s all crimes,
You called me, this morning, told me nothing is new,
“We’re over, we’re finished, you’re dead, yeah, we’re through.”
I can’t put it down but the thing rings again,
Just when I’m thinking of women, and when,
“Hey, you written that yet, you doing your job?’
“He’s not well,” “He’s nuts, “Say, who did I rob?”
When I smoke a little weed, bang, there it is,
“Hey, Bowie died, man, did you hear that sad biz?
They’re going, my friend, like snow in the sun …”
His voice sounding muffled like a soft silenced gun,
When I sit at the wheel, just radio drifting,
The thing comes alive, it’s jumping and shifting,
Won’t ever shut up, a real howling banshee,
Now a cop drives by, just taking a look see.
“Hey buddie, how are yuh? Say, can you lend me ten grand?”
This guitar millionaire in a rock band and roll band,
Then, a one and the other, it makes your brain bend,
The medium’s the message, and this is the end,
Now I gaze at the ceiling and watch Chaplinesque scenes
Adrift on the silence of silvery screens,
No more ringing, or buzzing, no more static for news-
‘Cause I’m tired of having those cell phone blues.