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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required To this scene we have gathered on September’s eve Under darkening sky, where a storm may conceive Not a sight better is that face I’ve hardly known So frail and aged in years past he had grown A tragedy that one with his talents immense Must be interred so young, still with look of innocence Too long had my brother decayed under the weight Of a burden, I’m afraid, that had become too great And of that blessed curse that I speak She stands now in the background waiting for her peek At the man who loved her more than life itself From the moment they met, he would heed no help For his eyes had spotted Atlantis it would seem That girl was no less than a living, breathing dream And so it was fated by the powers above The late Ryan Adams be doomed by his love Young and wild, his heart would stay no cage At 18, good Ryan as wise as any mage With the world before him and regrets left behind The hermited scholar thought the world quite unkind Joyous was he of his departure from home To leave for greener pastures where he was free to roam An artist he was in his heart and his soul If not to this end, he would never be whole Paintings so quaint did he stroke by the night Quietly laboring by the buzzing street light Mountains snowcapped and rivers of glass Any nature’s fancy to pay the time to pass Restless in heart and sleepless in mind The troubadour knew not what he wished to find But longing did fester in his young fevered head And his heart ever ached, beating love as blood red A man needs a woman, so the heavens made it so Cloudseated phantoms casting spells down below Enchanting a fool so to drive him insane For the purpose of loving another in vain To squeeze every drop of passion from his being And blindfold the eyes he could once use for seeing A hopeless romantic is born in such a way And so poor Ryan Adams did become that day The night air was cool and the liquor ran free Rivers to the gates of hell or a wine dark sea For the bottle does make demons of us all If freedom from troubles is a price fairly tall And Ryan did imbibe twice his weight on occasion No other could compare to a man of his station No less than three times in a week did he stumble Into stupors of hazy, chaotic jumble
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