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…
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