I only know what I've read, that they've found you dead
With the roses you threw from the steeple
All the children were wrong and they misread your songs
(They weren't written for regular people)
The smile on your face one could say was for grace
The flowers in your hand were for meaning
But I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
And I knew that you'd one day be leaving...
-dem bones-
see
--Chelsea Hotel No. 2--