I often gaze upon the photo of
my dear departed and everlating love.
He sang so sweet like angels from above
for those that came to eat delicious grub.
He performed his songs with vigor and finesse.
He was one that I would sure like to caress,
as his body was a thing to possess
and he never seemed to mind the obsessed.
Though he sang daily with his crazy band,
he never knew the large stretch and span
of the audience that sat in the stands
nor that I was his number one fan.
You see, kind sir, I loved a performing star
for whose love I would never be up to par
except to wash and shine his Malibu car
and serve his special drhinks behind the bar.
I hid at the desk in leopard's fur
never thinking his awful fate would occur.
I remember a flying silver spur
but after that it's really all just a blur.
A scream came from the corner bed,
and blood dribbled a scarlet red
to the floor, many sorrowful tears were shed
as we all realized my love was dead.
All the women whom he knew
knelt around him as if tying a shoe.
Although I knew he had never been true,
I was in the group of women too.
Though my tears of grief never came,
because he never been the type to tame,
so I had towered and watched in vain,
as he flaunted himself without any shame.
But with the women I tried to blend
and an expression of sorrow I tried to send,
instead my face gave way to a scary grin,
because I knew he would never cheat again.
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