MY DEATH...AT THE PASSING OF MY YOUTH

So sad to hear of David Bowies passing.
Alive on All Channels says:
I think his aesthetic choices during his life show an alive intellect constantly growing and changing. His choices at end-of-life are simply breathtaking and [I think] very courageous. He seems to be a person with little self pity and great self awareness. I am thankful to have grown up with him as a touchstone to that search for meaning in life.

That seems to be right. He quietly produced an album, Blackstar, released days before his death. His death, a surprise, as he had kept his cancer away from the public eye. And the album itself, seeming to commemorate his own passing, especially the song called Lazarus.



He did it softly and gently. He always seemed innocent, and vulnerable to me.
If Valentine Michael Smith, the gentle, innocent, superhuman man from Mars in "Stranger in a Strange Land" were ever to be fully realized, it would have to be realized as something close to David Bowie.

I found this at For 15 Minutes of Love, which led me to several versions of this song that was never done on a studio album. Its a Jacques Brel number, and David sang it first at his concerts as Ziggy. This is from 1983, with his voice deepened and wonderful musicianship to go along with it.


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Aw, for the same price why not post the version sung as Ziggy.







My death is like
A swinging door
A patient girl who knows the score
Whistle for her
And the passing time

My death waits like
A bible truth
At the funeral of my youth
Weep loud for that
And the passing time

My death waits like
A witch at night
And surely as our love is bright
Let's laugh for us
And the passing time

But whatever is behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil I don't care
For in front of that door
There is you

My death waits like
A beggar blind
Who sees the world with an unlit mind
Throw him a dime
For the passing time

My death waits
To allow my friends
A few good times before it ends
Let's drink to that
And the passing time

My death waits in
Your arms, your thighs
Your cool fingers will close my eyes
Let's not talk about
The passing time

But whatever is behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil I don't care
For in front of that door
There is you

My death waits
Among the falling leaves
In magicians, mysterious sleeves
Rabbits, dogs
And the passing times

My death waits
Among the flowers
Where the blackish shadow cowers
Let's pick lilacs
For the passing time

My death waits in
A double bed
Sails of oblivion at my head
Pull up the sheets
Against the passing time

But whatever is behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil I don't care
For in front of that door
There is you

Jacques Brel