Bongoe drums and bullfights,
Swining days and reckless nights -
In Technicolor or Black and White,
Wrong or right, he'll win the fight -
Caught in a dusty haze -
till his final days
With wealth and fame,
engulfed by flame
with a need to feed, this lust for speed
can only lead, to the end
In red blazers and violence -
in misty eyes and gleaming hair,
in youth and innocence, the devil may care -
In confidence, and despair -
of rules and laws, for this Rebel without a cause
"You're tearing me apart!"
Interest in the dying arts...
Like a soldier, without a heart -
But this love for art will never die.
Strong and raw, with a heavy sigh -
Icy rebel, afraid to cry...
With dirty hands, he's on his knees -
Bullets in hand, an aim to please
In his stare, a glare, a reflection
of a oppressed era -
The hopes and fears of a lost generation.
The desperate tears, of a nation -
Heavy hearts, and unsettled bets.
Chocolate malts, and cigerettes -
Ink on paper,
Paint on canvas,
Script in hand,
A greater artist was never seen -
Than in the soul,
of James Dean.