Forest Lawn

 
Doc in Holliday.
Billy the Kid.
They loved money.
And they loved booze.
The infamous Jesse James.
With his gang on the loose.
Didn't lose their heads.
On the hangmans noose.
It was in a gunfight.
In a hell fire of lead.
Tommy Gun love songs.
That Bonnie and Clyde made.
Sex and their bank jobs.
And games of death that they played.
Maybe a foolish game.
They call it russian roulette.
With losers sporting bullet holes.
Through both sides of their heads.
They lived to fast and furious.
All of them raced for it's edge.
Run Ins with the law.
Criminal deviants all of them dead.
Abraham Lincoln and Kennedy.
Marilyn Monroe lay cold in her bed.
She overdosed on drugs.
While the presidents.
Took one each in the head.
The sniper Lee Harvey Oswald.
Took a 38 to the chest.
Larry Flynt the porn mogul got lucky.
He was shot for being a sleaze.
Ritchie Valens in a plane crash.
At the tender age of seventeen.
Salena at twenty-three.
Finality of life.
Lives in the ability to breathe.
Can you hear it.
Kurt Cobain blew off his head.
Smells like teen spirit.
Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison.
All O.D. at twenty-seven.
33 In 1973 June 20th Bruce Lee.
Jesus Christ crucified for our sins.
Yes, thirty-three.
For me and you.
Elvis at forty-two in his blue suede shoes.
Michael Jackson at fifty.
The thriller is gone.
Everything eventually becomes a deceased.
But God forgives us all.
So may they all rest in peace.
At Forest Lawn.