The lady and her sorrowed blues
She’ll be dead in time Christmas
It’s written in her sacred shoes

Morrisons’s never gonna make it
Not even sure if he wants to
Young and beautiful, he’s had it

Jimi was crucified dead mortality
Waiting on a day for it to beckon
His life the stuff of immortal Deity

John Lennon knew it would happen
The appointed time the only mystery
A name writ on solid sidewalk stone

Brian had it stolen from him and us
Epstein’s almost unremarked upon
The consequence of quiet dignitas

Bolan won’t be rolling enviously
The electric elf was nailed on the shelf
By jealously wrapped posthumously

Kurt Cobain we hardly knew him
Nirvana’s loss is earth’s pain
Only the beautiful are self slain

Syd and Nancy in macabre dance
Punk’s Montagua and Capulet
Never had their loving chance

Nothing rises so strangely at all
As perishing young so beautifully
There’s the descent’s ascending fall

Even kings can be holy sacrificed
Upon the altar of a brokers pawn
By majestic majesty’s indifference  

Sacrifice is what makes us sacred
That’s what Death will never tell us
The Collector only does posthumous

So it says an’ maybe even so it goes
Who can tell of that heavenly hell
This side of knocking on those doors.