Death is a Star


And I was gripped by that deadly phantom;
I followed him through hard jungles
as he stalked through the back lots,
strangling through the night shades.
O the thief of life
moved onwards and outwards to love.

In a one-stop only motel
a storm bangs on the cheapest room.
The phantom slips in to spill blood,
even on the sweetest honeymoon.
The killer of love
caught the last, late Niagara bus.

By chance or escaping from misery,
by suddenness or in answer to pain,
smoking in the dark cinema—
see the bad go down again.

And the clouds are high in Spanish mountains;
and a Ford roars through the night full of rain.
The killer’s blood flows,
but he loads his gun again.
Can make a grown man cry like a girl
to see the guns dying at sunset.

In vain, lovers claimed
that they never had met.
Smoking in the dark cinema,
see the bad go down again.

Joe Strummer;
     Mick Jones

RedBoxPlainSm*[ WSB ].