Remembering Nirvana

Dirty chuck taylors scrape across floors, kick ashtrays.
Burned out amplifiers, dirty jokes, feedback galore.
Lead singer's fried vocal chords sound like Mudhoney.
We were all famous for a moment it seemed.
A frail little man on my tv screen.
In scorched denim and shaggy green cardigan.
It seems timeless, and when the gunfire cracked.
On that empty day in Seattle.
When we all felt it go away, like the reality we were trying to put off
Came roaring back.
The image became a loop,
When he died they played it for two weeks straight.
We stayed up late, talking about the end.
It was the beginning, of let downs, disappointments
and hints of left behind adulthood.
In the rain they lit candles, cried and comforted.
He was the first, the first one we'd see go.
Losing a little bit of ourselves.