Lyric Sheets

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The Independent Culture
Next week `The Encyclopaedia of Rock Obituaries' is published. It catalogues the demise of musicians big and small since the advent of Rock'n'Roll

The final makeover

Death becomes the fading idol

Better than mascara could

Not all of the good die young

Often though, the young die good.

The whippet-skinny roadie, Death

is ligging in your dressing room

Hanging round the stage and stairways

Twitchy like a virgin groom

Dine on doom you starstruck troupers

Death the pussycat will let you

Right until the feast is over

When the fortieth brandy gets you.

Death the drummer in your backline

Only makes the beat get stronger

Vita brevis in your biog

Guarantees your ars lives longa

Age the taxman, trims your fan-base

Quit before they drift away

Death, the first and last accountant

Won't object to how you pay

Shotgunned by a jealous lover

Cudgelled by a cult in Norway

Found with fruit and naff narcotics

Hanging from a hotel doorway

Better dead than out-of-cred

Portly on the comeback rota

Rocking on in spite of rancour

Far more sense to roll the motor

There beside you Death the groupie

In your Limo, horny, plastered

Immortality lies gagging.

Go on. Do it. Die ya bastard.

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