A hyperactive bearded Ray,
guitar slung low on his hips,
sexily agitated
by that razorblade pelvis.
Oh what I’d give for nights like this,
Rockpalast Essen 1982.
Skin sheened with sweat and skeletal,
that vulnerable hollow at
the base of his throat glistens
tendons stand out in his neck,
he’s an amphetamine-fuelled anorexic.
I know where I’d be if wishes came true.
Dave casts a weary look around.
Blinks, his gaze half-dead, like he
needs to be hospitalised,
except when he can get lost in
his guitar and just close his eyes,
he’s a Dave the Rave in disguise.
Glazed, gone, absent without trace,
Whoever’s behind those terminally,
Zoned dark-ringed feverish eyes,
Is barely keeping the pain at bay.
So you half-turn to a brother
‘With people like me you never can tell’: as if we ever thought any different.
Who’s not really there, then turn away.
But when Ray’s anguished yell
crescendos into
Dave’s impassioned guitar,
it sends a thrill right down your spine.
It gets you every single time.
Even at his worst, he’s still
The best amongst his peers
Hear the stamping feet, my friend,
And those loud, adulatory cheers
And when he’s at his best
He glows all around
As if light is shining through
And when he’s at his best
He sounds a sound
That’s purer than the rest
This is a man who’s much-beloved
Always picks you up
When you’re feelin’ down
Every time he comes around
My sister never even knew what he was “all about”
She didn’t care for the “background news”
He made her forget, her dark, black, hole
Of despair, and her *oh-so-blue*, blues
And as she lay dying, on the telly, she saw,
Him, late one night, with a choir
All singing like angels, all along
And thought to herself:
“He looks so familiar…
…where on Earth have I heard this song?”
This is a man who’s much-beloved
Always picks you up
When you’re feelin’ down
This is a man who’s much-beloved
Always picks you up
When you’re feelin’ down
Every time he comes around
Every time he comes around
Every time he comes around