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He’s dead but let us be grateful
for Robert Hunter’s lyrical spin
A life spent abetting the faithful
What a long strange trip it’s been

Daniel Johnston embodied outsider art
A modern day Willam Blake
Fearlessly wrote of a mind breaking apart
Seems despair never cut him a break

La Nave del Olvido was the start
A voice both subtle and strong
José José broke Mexico’s heart
Adios to the “Prince of Song”

Eddie Money used one of his Two Tickets to Paradise
Something he always wanted for sure
On Stubhub you can name your price
And join him there…I think I’ll demur

Malcolm Rebennack, Ivory Soap infant
But gris-gris spirits is what got him clean
Kicked smack else he would have been fucked
And Dr. John would have long left the scene

Dick Dale, surf-sound strummer
Monkees, Cars – Tork, Ocasek
Hal Blaine, Wrecking Crew drummer
His rhythms were anything but formulaic

Hal Prince was not a musician
But without him there is no “Todd”
He had a mission and naked ambition
And it helped to partner with God

By all accounts he was hard to bear
But from those who count, he had no equal
Nicknamed Ginger because of his hair
He blew up Cream and then its sequel:

Blind Faith and the faithful followed
First rock drummer to prominently solo
An unkind wraith in drugs he wallowed
But his drug of choice was (honestly)… polo

She sang Janacek, Wagner, Bartok and Strauss
Jessye Norman seemed to sing without effort
Her opulent tone would bring down the house
The most sumptuous voice since..well forever

Oh so at ease in so many genres
She worshipped in many religions
When asked of this her response was
“Pigeon holes are for pigeons”

The Captain went overboard
Did Tenille give him a love tap shove?
Love kept them together but oh Lord
Could anyone forgive “Muskrat Love”?

Gilberto is in heaven’s firmament
Was not planning that he’d be jamming
With Johnny Clegg, Previn, Berman but
Stealing the limelight is Carol Channing

Juice WRLD Chicago rapper edge of fame
Put his world on the map, “Girls Are All the Same”
Stephen Cleobury King’s Choir
Kehinde Lijadu won’t sing and inspire

Bill Gessner and Tom Phillips said goodnight
Dear friends whose songs never charted
But their love is why I write
And why I am broken-hearted

God they were odd, guileless graced
I mean who writes songs of decorative pillows?
Do their guitars lay unembraced
And play bury me beneath the willows?

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