When will you die?

A

Anonymous

Guest
The kind people
Have a wonderful dream
Mark Chapman dead
Cause people like you
Make me feel so tired
When will you die?
When will you die?
When will you die?
When will you die?
When will you die?
And people like you
Make me feel so old inside
Please die
And kind people
Do not shelter this dream
Make it real
Make the dream real
Make the dream real
Make it real
Make the dream real
Make it real


"John Lennon’s killer Mark Chapman says he feels ‘more and more shame’ every year"

https://www.nme.com/news/music/john-lennons-killer-mark-chapman-says-feels-shame-every-year-2402876
 
A friend of mine was wont to say “When you’ve been dead for a thousand years you’ve only just begun.”

I suppose if you look at things from that Ozymandias-like perspective you could argue Chapman sent Lennon both into eternity and also into legend and if he robbed the Beatle of anything it was the chance to chip away at his legacy further with Triple Fantasy, Quadruple Fantasy or Quintuple Fantasy.

But I have awoken in a very cynical frame of mind this morning. .
 
A friend of mine was wont to say “When you’ve been dead for a thousand years you’ve only just begun.”

I suppose if you look at things from that Ozymandias-like perspective you could argue Chapman sent Lennon both into eternity and also into legend and if he robbed the Beatle of anything it was the chance to chip away at his legacy further with Triple Fantasy, Quadruple Fantasy or Quintuple Fantasy.

But I have awoken in a very cynical frame of mind this morning. .

Yeah, thank God he didn’t get to continue being a husband and father.
 
“I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...

Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

- Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1817
 
Yeah, thank God he didn’t get to continue being a husband and father.

Well, some would say, to use a favourite media phrase, he wasn’t a great husband or father, but that’s by the by.

My point is that, leaving aside the cuddly warm bits, he became in that moment of tragedy much more, and viewed over a longer time period something he more likely than not would not have become. It has that Obi-Wan Kenobi “by killing me you only make me stronger” aspect to it.

That morning my Mum was making breakfast for me and my brother and we heard a scream of guttural anguish from the kitchen as she heard the news on the radio.

Howard Cosell’s announcement of the crime still sends shivers down the spine...



 
“I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...

Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

- Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1817
 
Back
Top Bottom