Declaration: "Death by Misadventure"

Declaration: "Death by Misadventure"

Take me to the place where the music stops
As the band recedes and the tempo drops
To a mellowed-out time between sixty and eight
And your arms have so crumbled from under the weight
Of your brilliance; stars slip like sweat down your face
It’s the blood, toil and tears of the whole human race

The light’s long since faded; the crowd’s all but gone
There’s nothing within you that says “carry on”
But you do for some reason, maybe it’s pride
Or the blazing sensation that builds up inside
When you play; gaze down on the faces below
Watching you writhe for this one final show

‘Cause there’s love in this spoonful, there’s ice and it’s cold
Be they bottled or snorted, your demons grab hold
Of your glorious soul, your unstopping spirit
The woman is sobbing, she simply won’t hear it
“It’s not true”; and for one final time, you’re declared
And the people don’t matter-- they never once cared