No pink dress, but a drag queen gown;
No sixteen candles on a cake, but an incense stick at the shrine;
No fruit punch cups to make a toast, but Moet & Shandon to wet my lips;
Thinking of an artist, the poet, the divo, the altruist, the harlequin, the clown;
Running thru all those memories like they were mine;
Liking my lip-synching and watching videoclips.
Hey, only remembering good old times here, I´m no longer on my teens;
don´t want a waltz with prince charm, but keep headbanging with the Queen.
- Requiem to F. Bulsara (5 September 1946 – 24 November 1991).
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