andy, it's me, haven't seen you in a while
i wish i talked to you more when you were alive
i thought you were self-assured when you acted shy
hello, it's me

i really miss you, i really miss your mind
i haven't heard ideas like that in such a long, long time
i loved to watch you draw and watch you paint
but when i saw you last i turned away

when billy name was sick and locked up in his room
you asked me for some speed, i though it was for you
i'm sorry that i doubted your good heart
things always seem to end before they start

hello, it's me, that was a great gallery show
your cow wallpaper and your floating silver pillows
i wish i paid more attention when they laughed at you
hello, it's me

"pop goes pop artist," the headline said
"is shooting a put-on, is warhol really dead?"
you get less time for stealing a car
i remember thinking as i heard my own record in a bar

they really hated you, now all that's changed
but i have some resentments that can never be unmade
you hit me where it hurt i didn't laugh
your diaries are not a worthy epitaph

oh well now, andy, guess we've got to go
i hope some way somehow you like this little show
i know it's late [bad word] but it's the only way i know
hello, it's me 

goodnight, andy
goodbye, andy