The Prince is dead, anointed and mysterious,
poppy pills likely the blow, a set upon existence dealt,
for who he was all he knew was want, truckloads of never enough,
crouched in a foxhole, shrapnel cinders overhead,
loveliness and lovely loneliness, floating a gilded heart,
lip smack teeth taste, every eye all asparkle,
gaseous spite and ruthless desire, groundwater poison tattoo face,
too good to live, we didn’t deserve him.