The Last Great LP
You should be thankful for his last great LP,
before accepting age, mediocrity,
or both. She comes, she comes to lay her glove,
to remind you of something you once loved.
Did you know, as it was torn from his breast,
it would be a capstone for all the rest,
looked back upon as quickening years increase
as some mausoleum’s centrepiece?
For sure, it is both a millstone and monument
to times when themes were confident,
belted out, strong in melody, deep in rhythm,
each track carefully sequenced and given
equal weight. You listen, contemplate
lyrics that speak of destiny, challenge fate,
each exquisite movement built on the last:
but all things must pass.
From here he sets out for diminished returns,
his lover’s heart that once burned,
once ached and could not put music aside,
penned each subsequent record and sighed,
it is not as it was. Once tearing your clothes
you cried of moons, of love that flows
like music from his past mastered manuscripts,
be thankful his last great LP exists,
to cut an almost beating heart like steely knife.
Would you even make her wife,
go join those travelling herds in search of life,
or did you divide yourself in half,
become a cheapskate, cardboard epitaph?
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