We’ve got a poem review of Peter Murphy‘s appearance last night in Seattle, courtesy of the Gothic Nibbler:
To finally see this man was strange
The venue was kind of a dump
His voice was good, with powerful range
The gothic chicks were plump
We’d come there on a nostalgic whim
Humming “Deep Ocean Vast Sea”
But being there was somewhat grim
This we did foresee
His grubby band sounded sort of metal
It really did not fit
Dude had a five string bass and his hood on his face
If you ask me, that’s kind of shit
But hey he’s fifty three and I guarantee
I’ll hope to be in the same shape
He’s got his name on the marquee while look at me
At a day job I can’t escape
They did “Burning From The Inside” and “Silent Hedges”
But the magic wasn’t there
Omitting David J, or Daniel Ash
Equals a cover band rehash
We were running on fumes of teenage obsession
To leave early we did elect
In the air hung one little question
“What exactly did you fucking expect?”
Peter Murphy
