They called you King Edward. You were, King of your ground.
Whether we were lonely, joyful, worn-down or heartbroken, riding down the highway of life, with a switch of the radio, you could fill days with illusions to match any mood. There were colors spilling from the guitar, swirling into sounds that shook us, wrapped us, the eruption we didn’t expect.
You molded our tiny, fragile worlds until we found our own strengths, and cancer found yours. Then, all the lights went out.
Goodnight, King. There’s still a glow from the fire on stage.
Whether we were lonely, joyful, worn-down or heartbroken, riding down the highway of life, with a switch of the radio, you could fill days with illusions to match any mood. There were colors spilling from the guitar, swirling into sounds that shook us, wrapped us, the eruption we didn’t expect.
You molded our tiny, fragile worlds until we found our own strengths, and cancer found yours. Then, all the lights went out.
Goodnight, King. There’s still a glow from the fire on stage.
