All Before The Music Died (A Love Letter To The Bands I Once Loved)

We were lost in a house of love
as our generation
tried its best to shine on.
We breathed in no sigh of relief,
but we let out
a violent primal scream.

I must return home
with James and Gene
to deal with Jane’s Addiction,
and buy her the finest roses
made from stone,
on this infinite
of blue Monday’s.

Puking over youth,
with a voice so sonic,
Moving supersonic over Insprial carpets
and an oasis of gin and tonic.

That petrol emotion,
as this tear drop explodes,
On My bloody valentine
as we start to age and chorded.

In Papa New Uni
I found the future,
in saint ettene I was in a bad way.
The feeling was lush
as we enjoyed picnics on motorways.

I returned on a pacific state 808
 from Mad-Chester, forever delayed.
You’re twisting my melon man"""


Oh Mr Hannon
you write such witty lyrics
I find you comedy truly divine.

And so we find our self’s standing in cowpat
in a field in worle,
sorted for e’s and whiz
and surrounded by common people
and the promise of new labor
our brain’s crushed to a pulp.
Lost in a wide open space.

Oh Mr Weller with your ever changing lyrics man,
I’ll follow you in to the wild wood of death,

Our skin feels like suede
swimming in seas of animal nitrate,
but soon a new generation
like London would be calling.

……and in a blur it was gone,
there was no other way.
No connection was made.

Nevermind, we expressed nirvana,
we swum in jam made of pearls,
we smashed pumpkins and took the ride,
All before the music died.