He sang the rough falsetto,
Moon-walked across the floor,
He was a kid but very famous
but the crowd called out for more,
The room was humming harder
as the ceiling flew away;
When he called out for another drink,
the waiter brought a tray

And so it was that later
as his agent told his tale
that his face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale

She said, ‘If you want Motown,
then I’ll give you ‘ABC.’
But I wandered through my records
and would not let her be,
The Beatles changed the picture
But there still was Quincy Jones,
and although his eyes were open
they might have just as well’ve been closed

And so it was that later
as his sister told his tale
that his face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale

He said, ‘I’m home on shore leave,’
though, in truth, on MTV
so I took him by the video
and forced him to agree
saying, ‘You must do the robot
and forget the Jackson 5.’
But he smiled at me so sadly
that my anger straightway died

And so it was that later
as the child told his tale
that his face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale

If Thriller was our answer,
The revenge against the queen
and the British Invasion whiteys,
whose dirt was mostly clean,
His mouth by then sought children,
seemed to slip straight through our head
So he crash-dived straightway quickly
To Elizabeth Taylor’s bed

And so it was that later
as the public told his tale
that his face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale

How long ago it seems now when his daughter was Jim’s girlfriend…

Jeez…it seems like he’s been around singing for us all our lives, hasn’t he?

This hour, I am sad.