You set the pace, listening to cable-car cables grinding under the asphalt.
Happily watching an oncoming line
Polaroid camera swings from your throat.
You never choke because you're a pro.
You are the envy, but everyone knows:
That you're a 'fuckboy'
Lathered in milk-foam while trimming your crust.
Lancing the aphids under your husk of cynical, fabulousness and...
Saying that nothing is so:
Far-out persuasions are only a joke.
'Fun-to-funky' is only a nonsense
Perpetrated by pop stars for fame...
Seducing would-be 'Che Guevara's left turning to face the strange.
Aint that just like living?
That cosmic jive really made an impression.
Hooked on the gift of 'sound and vision'
Generations of glamorous youth are desperate for something profound to consume.
Now that apollo is through:
The wannabe-Starmen were all made out to be fools
And a Blackstar left behind is our only sign of the ghost.
We prayed that it was not so:
Life after Bowie is only a hoax
Painfully writ and abhorrently told.
Nothing is true.
Nobody's cool anymore.
Everyone's faking their way to the end of the show.
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