(To the tune of American Pie)
A short, short time ago...
After the end of September
Died a man who used to make us smile.
He knew if he had his chance
That he could make the people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.
His recent frailty made me shiver
But I never doubted he’d deliver.
Then bad news came by way of text;
I could not conceive of what was next.
It’s been a long time since I’ve cried
But, when I read about his widowed bride,
Something touched me deep inside
The day the Music died.
So bye-bye, to the American guy.
All our hearts are heavy,
Miss that glint in your eyes.
Even enemies, they grieve your demise.
Saying, "I just can’t believe that he’s died."
“I just can’t believe that he’s died.”
Did you write the book of love?
You had no faith in God above
Cause you never trusted ‘bout what is so.
But you did believe in rock ’n roll,
That Music soothes the mortal soul.
And you taught us all things we couldn’t know.
Well, I know that you’wr in love with tech
`cause it set you off on your treck.
You and Wos rolled up your sleeves
Determined to make us all believe.
As lonely teenage broncin’ bucks
With your imaginations and a little luck,
You and Woz, you made your bucks
Before your Music died.
People then were singin’,
“Hi hi, new American guy.
All our hopes are lifted,
By that dream in your eye.
Hey, hey Steve, show us another surprise.”
You’d say, "You won’t believe your two eyes."
“You just won’t believe your two eyes.”
For many years you ran things on your own.
Knowin’ moss grows fat even on rollin’ stones,
You’wr never hampered by what used to be.
Then a jester challenged you, the Founder,
Thinkin’ his crazy ideas were sounder,
And predictably Apple began to flounder.
And while you, Steve, were looking down,
The jester stole your thorny crown.
The boardroom was adjourned;
A dire verdict was returned.
So while that imposter made low the Mac,
Bill Gates played the copycat,
And you were laid out on the mat.
You thought your Music died.
You were crying,
"bye-bye, Apple of my eye.”
“So hard to see the dream,”
“I gave my life to die.”
“Them good old boys, they won’t know how to survive.”
"This’ll be the day that it dies.”
“This’ll be the day that it dies."
Thirty years old and you’d lost your swagger.
Maybe they were right: You’wr just a braggart,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
But you’d land foul on the grass.
And you’d give business another pass,
Showing the world from the sidelines what was NeXT.
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume.
It led you from NeXT to remake cartoons.
T’was much celebration,
O’er your feats of animation:
As the hoppers tried to take the field;
The ants, they all refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
After your dream had died?
We were singing,
"My, my, that American guy.
“All our hearts are lifted,
By that new dream in your eye.”
“Hey, hey Steve, show us another surprise.”
You'd say, "You won’t believe your two eyes."
“You just won’t believe your two eyes.”
Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in cyberspace
With no time left to start again.
So come on: Jack be nimble, Jack be quick!
Jack Sculley sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil’s only friend.
Oh, and as you watched him on your stage
Your hands must’ve clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell.
As Apple’s flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
You were finally reinstated with delight.
The Music nearly died.
You were singing,
"Hi-Hi, miss Apple pie.”
“I remember when”
“You’wr just a gleam in my eye.”
“Them good old boys, they nearly let you die.”
“But today is not the day that you’ll die.”
"Today is not the day that you’ll die."
And so your girl, she was singing the blues.
And you asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
Then you went down to the sacred store
Where you’d heard the Music years before,
And you remade the store in a whole new way.
And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
And in boardrooms words were spoken;
As the old ways all were broken.
Like the three men you admired most:
You made things that were grandiose,
And the establishment caught trains for the coast.
But they, they could not hide.
And yet now they’re singing,
"Bye-bye, Mr. American guy
“We drove our chevys to the levee,”
“But the levee was dry.”
“Till you we good-ole boys were drinkin’ kool-aid and lies”
“Singin’, ‘this’ll won’t be the day that we die.’”
"’This won’t be the day that we die.’"
And now they’re singing,
“Bye-bye, to the American guy.”
“All our hearts are heavy,”
"Miss that fire in your eyes.”
“Even enemies, we grieve your demise.”
“Even we can’t believe the Music died."