Club 27

The edge of a knife Between hell and heaven Rode hard, put up wet At age twenty-seven ‘Twas never in doubt Inspired, these artists But those who fly high Oft crash down the hardest They wrestled their demons In public displays Poor young tortured souls Awash in the praise Surreal, making magic While up on the stage The young troubadours For a turbulent age So much adulation Could not ease the pain Right there, in plain sight They circled the drain We raise up our heroes Then cast them aside No consideration No one to confide Twenty-seven’s too young For exiting doors But sad though it is, There’ll be plenty more…