She died young and left a beautiful corpse needled by drug abuse.
Now, a thousand women later, I’m still haunted by my Muse.
Alone with Jack Daniels, I see her face distorted by the whiskey bottle;
Those green eyes, her cute neck that once or twice I wanted to throttle.
My ears are throbbing from heavy metal that left fans delirious… and me feeling empty inside.
Her pale lips move but I can’t hear her… is she taunting me about being a bride?
The groupies are cackling outside my dressing room, I can smell their musky perfume.
I won’t let them in; they can’t compete with a ghost who lost her groom.
I sluice the sweat of a stale set from my aching body.
Sleeping Beauty… she was the one, even though the bitch gave me a run for my money.
I wrote this poem after hearing Motorhead’s Lemmy (1945-2015) talk about a girlfriend who died of a heroin overdose. In Lemmy: The Movie the rocker said: “She died young and left a beautiful corpse and, like, when they do that it’s easy to think they were the one. She probably wasn’t. She was a mouthy little bitch, you know, as well. But she was great.”