'The End of an Era'
Notes to reader(s):
- This fine work of art received its premiere reading at Burney Lane on 15th November 2009
- If you have difficulty with certain aspects of this 'modern classic', please refer to the previously published notes on 'Northern Rhyming' and the 'Scanning is for wimps' Rule, and if you experience problems in getting some words to rhyme (e.g. 'muddle' and 'Fuggle'), just accept - once again - that you're not as bright as the poet
- Most of this artistic masterpiece is factually based, however some lends itself to poetic licence (a copy of the author's poetic licence is available on request, if required)
An aged Rocker from Birmingham way
decided again he'd got something to say
He started to pen; he worked round the clock
In his head were a soldier, a disciple, a Rock.
He took trips to the seaside to find inspiration
It took hours and days (and some perspiration!)
And so that he could make sense of this muddle
He enlisted the help of the one they call 'Fuggle'!
And carefully, prayerfully he started to find
A piecing together of the thoughts in his mind
And even when it was far from complete
He started to put the word on the street
With the help of the slaves in the CMM office
(he plied them with copious biscuits and coffees)
He soon built up a list of dates
And places who were willing to open their gates
Next he needed a cast of actors and singers
He scoured the country for lookers, not mingers
He found dancers, producer, costumiers, sellers,
Musicians and wardrobe and great techie fellas
Prayer warriors soon volunteered their skills
To ensure that the tours passed with minimal ills
What he got was a team that was best in the land
A talented, God-loving, number one band.
They all practiced hard. Many hours they invested
To the limit their talents were prodded and tested
The musical ones laid down a CD
With the help of Chris in his conservatory!
Eventually after much preparation
The musical 'Rock' was released to the nation
On the first of November two thousand and eight
And the crowds they all loved it; they thought it was great
If I told you the tales of every last tour
I feel I'd become a bit of a bore
So I'll precis (sum up) in a real simple way
So that even the Leicester folk hear what I say
We travelled the country, with the devil we'd duel
Never late on the stage, despite lack of fuel!
Most days would start with a worshipful meeting
Commencing with Alan's traditional greeting
Then we'd eat, then we'd meet our wonderful choir
And we'd pray that the dressing rooms weren't too dire
And then after rehearsal did finally break up
We'd slip into costume and slap on our makeup.
After prayers with the choir (and a bishop or two)
And a final chance to nip to the loo
Our Roger would stand up to speak to the masses
And wiggle his bum to the delight of the lasses
The band would strike up, the choir would sing
The dancers would come on and do their thing
Followed closely by cast who'd deliver their lines
Sticking fully to the script all the while, every time...
Backstage would be peaceful and tranquil and still
No giggling from dancers, no-one falling ill
No tears from Alan, no clanking of chains
No-one messing about, or being a pain
Some two hours later (unless there's a break)
We'd bow, and rapturous applause we would take
We'd meet and we'd greet, and we'd pray where we could
And if we could find our hosts it'd be good
With a bit of luck, when we got back to digs
They'd insist of supper of soup or of figs
Or plates full of sandwiches piled up high
Or cakes, or pudding of hot apple pie
Then (very often at something past one)
We'd crawl upstairs and get our 'jamas on
But no need for gloom, no need for sorrow
They've said they'll do us a fry-up tomorrow
So after more food and some great fellowship
We'd get back on the road to continue our trip
It's off to a church for some quiet contemplation
With a belly jam-packed with eggs and with bacon
Then back in the car with a lovely new bunch
And we'd get there in time for a nice slap-up lunch
Then back to the meeting and back to the show
And back home for supper (the waistline doth grow)
So that's the tour for you (boy, I don't half rabbit)
But it's gonna be hard to get out of the habit
And it's gonna be harder waking up in the mornin'
All bleary eyed and tired and yawnin'
Knowing never again will we all go on tour
We may never witness the 'Walker snore'
We may never see Margaret or Viv wave a flag
If we're not very careful, it could end up a drag
Except for the fact that we'll all still be friends
United by God's love that will never end
Inspired by the Rocker from Birmingham way
Who decided again he'd got something to say.
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