For Writer's Cramp, of the day the music died. |
| Against the time the flames climbed high, those lost in space - so lost, indeed, all over the place four future symphonies erased a long, long time ago. The echoes past, of rock and roll, take one more step you lost your lives, we lost control, we lost our ever-lovin' soul we raved and sank, no longer whole The sights, the scents, of sweet perfume - like smoke that came and filled the room, a mind monsoon, A February's day of doom The music died, and far too soon. note ▶︎ |