IconElegies

 I had to dance one last time. And sing. For money. That's why I was born. To dance and sing. I was given no choice. And I loved it all my life. But then I died. Disgraced. There was no more time. My beloved dream milk killed me. I was Michael Jackson. Crazy Jacko to some, but fortunately loved by some. Most of all, I wanted to be a child myself. In heaven I am a child. No one demands anything from me, and no one disgraces me.

Some say Elvis is not dead, but I did die, just later than my brother. My death may not have been fit for a king, but I lived like a king, extravagantly, fast, women, cars, splendor, I offered them to others without asking for payment. All I really loved was singing. I died alone, extravagantly, without love, as befits a king.  

I bled dry in a famous people's hotel with a knife and a baby in my belly. I always knew I would die before I turned twenty-one, and when I did, I would die famous. I was the blonde black bride of punk, Nancy Spungen. I don't remember who killed me, I was too crazy, but they say it was Sid. I was crazy, unpredictable and violent. So was Sid. We brought out the worst in each other. Our love could only end badly. Yeah, that madness and heroin.

My name was Brian Jones. I was the Golden Stone,  Child of the Moon. and Stones was my band. I died everyday, they said,  and that was true. I died way too early. I was the first in the 27´s club,  when I drowned.  Please do not judge me to harshly.