I lay awake,
morbid thoughts in my head.
Marilyn died all alone in her bed.
Nobody could help her,
yet tears we did shed.
What I imagine hinders a once peaceful sleep.
Poetic John Lennon shot in the street,
thought it was just another fan to greet
and by the millions
music lovers did weep.
I lay down and am lonesome tonight.
Poor Elvis he died with pills by his side,
innocent country boy went into the light.
Passed out in the toilet,
the end was in sight.
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