and few fans of the band on hearing
your hypnotic rhythms would disagree.
You played hard on - and off - the stage
a true symbol of rock ‘n roll’s golden age.
But, alas, your personal hell arrived
unbidden while you were still alive
with dementia taking its relentless toll
so finally you could not even remember
those simple chords you struck so well
when you died at the age of sixty-four.
Maybe people are right to ease the pain
of your passing, believing you’ll live on
in the sublimity of your riffs forevermore.
Yet we who’ve known you since your heyday
refuse to be consoled in this anodyne way
as news of your death matters a great deal
for, like your music, it’s hard, raw and real.