Endurance, represented by th’eternal song.
But existence, always in this plane, too brief!
Consider the Purple One,
A Prince among the tribes, His parabolic arc
Knocked us out’ da Paisley Parc!
Do not mourn for him- the Museum has his peacock
Guitar; His soul has launched very ever Far!

James, endlessly flinging back the gilded Cape-
Leaping one leg to the other,
For his mighty energies, Never a bother.

Michael, we hardly knew ye,
Building joy through your endless energies!
Your high notes carried our synergies
Above and beyond any petty Tragedies.

Let us look back to the year ‘Thirteen,
The loss of a grand ancestor was felt quite keen’—
Bobby Blue Bland resounded his tales of love and woe,
Oh so sweetly throughout the land.
Even a hillbilly Elvis by his own hand
Emulated your process hairstyle to “Grace”
his ‘Blackish’ voice and crooked smile.

Now we hear of Cuba Senior’s loss,
For fluid tenor balladry;
He was the boss. A ‘Main Ingredient,’
We like to say, who was the acme
To the finest Music which raised our spirit
Back in “The Day!”

So let us not falsely grieve and moan,
For these giants now live in a hate free zone!