THE KING IS DEAD

I wrote this poem yesterday after hearing about Michael Jackson's sudden death. I then read it to an American audience a few hours later - it went down well. This is very definitely a spoken piece, as the rhythm changes several times (I have tried to indicate change by keeping space between sections). I hope you like it.

THE KING IS DEAD

Michael Jackson's dead
What a taxing life he lead
All that moving and shaking
But now the pigs will have his bacon
All that dancing and singing
But now his false friends will be grinning
All of those world tours
But now those lawyers are licking their jaws
All that money he made
But now there are vultures who need to be paid

Blood hounds lying in wait
To pounce and devour Michael Jackson's estate
Leeches waiting to suck
The death of a star to them's a stroke of luck
Wild dogs sniffing about
To get what they can from this, while I don't doubt

That Michael Jackson was strange
He never acted his true age
He had a very squeaky voice
He liked to hang around with boys
He had a monkey for a friend
Called Bubbles
Still now in the end
His troubles

Were no more or less than ours
He did not have super powers
Like us, he felt pain and stress
Like us, yearned for love's caress
Like us, he was full of feeling
Like us, just a human being

Son of a mother and brother to others
He had some children and he had some lovers
In bed at night he would pull up the covers
And dream.....
.....like us
Of what might have been.....
.....like us
Of what is, and what will be, and what was

"Wacko Jacko"'s just too easy
Like a pack o' wolves the sleazy
Media will take his life
In his death and with a knife
Like a chef cut it up finely
To sell papers speak unkindly
Of his capers, what a thriller
Now that Jackson's in the chiller

And they'll beat it, just beat it
Now Mike's not here he cant delete it
They'll take his odd personality
And add to his inhumanity
By pointing out his impiety
And giving him notoriety
Immortality, maybe even
But whatever you read, dont believe em
The press will impress just to sell
If there IS a heaven or hell
Then its not up to us to make judgement or say
If Michael Jackson went this or that way

All human beings get confused
All human beings make mistakes
We never walked in his shoes
We never knew his heartaches
In Neverland this Peter Pan
Who never quite became a man
Mightve been happy, mightve been sad
But we'll never know all the feelings he had
Except that he had em
And we have em too
He was a child of Adam like you
So although the papers will run his heart through -

I wish his troubled spirit well
I hope his heart's now free
That Michael Jackson is up there relaxing
With angels and our deity
Because life CAN be too taxing
So I hope that he WILL R.I.P.