Dead Friends

I wrote this one over 20 years ago, inspired by a Pete Townshend quote.

“Look at my life, look at my generation, how did that work? Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Keith Moon, the list is fucking endless. They’re dead people, my life is full of dead people, my friends are dead, my friends! They might be your fucking icons, they’re my fucking friends, they’re dead!”

– Pete Townshend, 1995

Walking through unkempt grass
With flowers in hand
Remembering a kid who flew so high
And nearly forgot how to land

Wind blows thinning hair,
Tears stain his face.
Is this the only reward
For not having lost the race?

Back in the beginning
They ran in a pack
Living life to the fullest
and never looking back

Burning with an intensity
That’d never grow cold
All the time praying
That they’d never grow old

All his friends are dead now
He buried them one by one
Now he stand alone among the graves
Under the slowly setting sun.

April-June 1995

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