The fading star

The artist stood on a stage

Singing, dancing, acting

Like a crown-less king

Hidden in a book’s empty page.

The artist was a playwright

And an actor

A soul filled with might

And warm, child-like candor

The artist sang of astronauts

And spoke of heroes

Wondering if society could wear changes

In rock and roll suicides.

The artist went to spend eternity

With the stars, silently.

Thank you, Mr. Bowie.

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