This poem I dedicate to a bass guitar player,
my friend, Fred Robinson, from my hometown
Fort Worth, Texas. We played together, so this
poem is his life story, in short.
Can you imagine standing in an alley,
with flies, flying around your but,
Wanting to break from the addiction,
but another hit, got you stuck.
Peeping around corners
Because I’m hiding from the cops;
I’m tweeking like a rock star,
because I don’t give a fuck.
Spending all my time in a coma,
Looking for a lick, to make my day.
Then running to the dope man,
To front me til I get paid.
This vicious cycle is never ending,
And the pipe dreams, drain my life.
The more I hit my knees praying,
The more Satan, calls me out.
Jails and institutions, my reality,
lock doors from my family, keep me out!
Life of homeless wasn’t my future,
Being a rock star was my route.
But now that’s me in a corner,
the guitar I sold, I now regret.
If you could of seen the crowds that loved me,
I was on the way, but now I’m dead.
Party Like A Rock Star RIP, my friend. | JJ