Poem for Amy Winehouse written and recorded by Dave Stewart.
That song became a prophecy
Chasing its bitter fulfilment
From day to day
Each vinyl hour, scratching
An obituary on the record of your life
Ending in the hiss of your existence
You did not desire fame
Nor the pedestal, from which
Only gravity had purchase
You longed for identity, but settled for recognition
In the world's bitter elements.
And happiness, lay static on the horizon
Forever promising, that mirage
Through which you saw the ghost of a heritage
And life was prodigal, a ballad to be sung on the edge
In fame,
But love,
Love was a losing game.
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