Song For David Bowie

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-01-15T20_31_29-08_00

Oh, hear this David Jones

I wrote a song for you

About a strange old man

called Bowie

With a voice like stardust and glass

His words of lethal endurance

They could catapult us into space

Turned the multitudes on

And put the fashion on a whole lot more

Ah, here she comes

Here she comes

Here she comes again

The same sad eyed lady

From the broken wing of a nightingale

She’ll claw out our third eyes                                              

As she comes on like a painted harlequin

But a couple of hymns

From your deep-rooted memory banks

Could lull this Blackstar out of hibernation

You gave your mind to every freak who worshipped you

At least a vision in my mirror

And you sat among a million super models

And told them how they feel

Then we found your mission statement

The paintings are your teenagers now

While difficulties are multiplying

We’d rather be anxious

Dreamy than subterranean

Ah, here she comes

Here she comes

Here she comes again

Now hear this David Jones

Though I don’t suppose we’ll exchange emails

Ask your good friend Bowie

If he’d reflect for a while

On what could never have been

Tell him we’ve lost his Bluebird 78s

So they’re writing with ashes and sand

Give us back our allegiance

Give us back our brood

You’re every country’s expatriate

Don’t leave us with their saneness

Ah, here she comes

Here she comes

Here she comes again

Charles Cicirella