Opportunities to say

There's a funeral for a celebrity friend, someone I knew, much younger, before fame bit

So I'm invited by his dad, because he remembers when I used to come round in summer days, with plans for dens, or streams to dam

But that's the last memory for me, I didn't know him as he made his way

He died badly, fat and failed and full of himself and drugs

But his mum cried at the funeral, and his dad looked at me once and acknowledged something

Because all his latter friends are shits or charlatans

At the funeral for the cameras

I'm not recognised so attract a camera and a faceful of mic

So I had an opportunity to say, to say all of this is fucked, we don't mark your death with a bunch of cunts in attendance

But instead I walk on and look away