Meeting your maker take a lot out of a bloke.
You used to joke that heaven wasn’t real,
and now you feel what it would be like if you were right.

Bigger than Jesus you claimed and your fame
was crucified in a less meaningful way, apologies come,
it was a dumb thing to say in that way.

The papers said, “GOD IS DEAD!” and in your head
you saw your fabularity picking up the slack.
And then you wished you could take it back.

You didn’t need the weed to succeed, only John.
Acid turned you into an ass head for a short while,
but your Liverpudlian smile always toted charm.

You chose her to be your Yoko Ono, and with her on your arm
your were living your fantasy two fold. You thought things
that would bring discussions to the table. Deportation was a fable

ill conceived, and we believed all you would imagine,
if given the chance peace would find a way and today
you may still be dreaming. It seems surreal. I feel you here!

You may say I’m a dreamer.
Can you imagine?


(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



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