I was talking to a friend of yours; we were on the phone a little while ago.
I asked her how you were doing these days and she said, "didn't you know?"
She said it happened one day last winter. you were driving in to catch a plane.
There was ice on the road and a gasoline truck, but at least you never felt any pain.
I just sat there for a minute, not wanting to believe my ears;
And i thought about all the times i meant to call but didn't these last few years.
Your friend kept right on talking but her words sorta faded out
And left me alone, holding the phone, wondering what it's all about.

The mountain has not moved
And the river still runs.
The rain still falls
And the dawn still comes.
It's the same old world
Outside my door
But there's a hole in it now
That wasn't there before.

If you turn the clock back far enough it's the summer of seventy-nine.
I was the lookout man up on johnson rock and you'd bring up the mail sometimes.
I'd open us a bottle of red and we'd hang out on the catwalk stairs,
Talking about books and people we knew and what we'd do if we were millionaires.

The story never gets too complicated: just a couple of guys who were friends,
A few summers up on the hill then one year it finally came to an end.
I went back to seattle and you stayed on in that oregon town,
But i don't think either one of us ever thought about burning any bridges down. (Refrain)

So when the road took me under its wing i always thought that i'd see you again.
I even came back through the valley one fall but you'd already moved by then;
So i got your address and number and i filed them away in my book.
Hell, there'd always be plenty of time. nothing's lost if you know where to look.

Some lives are longer than others, but we all have to give up the ghost.
I like to think there's just enough time to do what matters the most.
I guess that means you were ready, but that's not much comfort right now
In this room that's a little too empty and this silence that's a little too loud. (Refrain)