My Death

MyDeath

My friend Phil Braen posted the lyrics of a cover, My DeathBowie released in 1972. It was written by Jacque Brel. Bowie made the song his own, of course, changing the lyrics as it suited him. We would expect nothing less. May we all learn from his fearlessness.

My death is like

A swinging door

A patient girl who knows the score

Whistle for her

And the passing time

My death waits like

A bible truth

At the funeral of my youth

Weep loud for that

And the passing time

My death waits like

A witch at night

And surely as our love is bright

Let’s laugh for us

And the passing time

But whatever is behind the door

There is nothing much to do

Angel or devil I don’t care

For in front of that door

There is you

My death waits like

A beggar blind

Who sees the world with an unlit mind

Throw him a dime

For the passing time

My death waits

To allow my friends

A few good times before it ends

Let’s drink to that

And the passing time

My death waits in

Your arms, your thighs

Your cool fingers will close my eyes

Let’s not talk about

The passing time

But whatever is behind the door

There is nothing much to do

Angel or devil I don’t care

For in front of that door

There is you

My death waits

Among the falling leaves

In magicians, mysterious sleeves

Rabbits, dogs

And the passing times

My death waits

Among the flowers

Where the blackish shadow cowers

Let’s pick lilacs

For the passing time

My death waits in

A double bed

Sails of oblivion at my head

Pull up the sheets

Against the passing time

But whatever is behind the door

There is nothing much to do

Angel or devil I don’t care

For in front of that door

There is you

Tell me, tell me.