David Bowie Ballad Of The Adventurers
Sickened by sun, with rainstorms lashing him rottenA looted wreath crowning his tangled hairEvery moment of his youth apart from it’s dream was forgottenGone the roof overhead, but the sky was always thereOh you, who are flung out, alike from heaven and from hadesYou murderers who’ve been so bitterly repaidWhy did you part from the mothers who nursed you as babiesIt was peaceful and you slept and there you stayedStill he explores and rakes the absinthe green oceansThough his mother has given him up for lostGrinning and cursing with a few odd tears of contritionAlways in search of that land where life seems bestLoafing through hells and flocked through paradisesCalm and grinning, with a vanishing faceAt times he still dreams of a small field he recognisesWith a blue sky overhead and nothing else
