The world shook as the sun rose to the loss of musical splendor.
Promiscuous Mercury, gleaming through the hearts of many men and women, was now only a figment of vinyl’s purest imagination.
The white leotard, which hugged his hips tightly at the seams, hangs carefully amongst his eclectic wardrobe, never victim to a crease again.
Zoroastrian’s famous Queen realized that the direction of the wind’s blows mattered; he lost that world, rocked by fat-bottomed girls, more than a little too soon.
Life had lost somebody to love.
Those feminine fingers belonging to the essential diva, metallic black paint never looking better, still play Bohemian Rhapsody
but only to the sold out crowd at Heaven’s gate.
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