Inspired by Sam S Sterling's (tried to link it, but didn't work) Poem about Syd Barret, I decided I just had to write something about Edie Sedgwick. I haven't edited it at all, but here it is.


The floors were yellow-stained
like my slowly rotting teeth,
Those days at Silver Hill.
Those days at Silver Hill,

Were like the bottles of my brother
that were broken on the floor,
where they still lie,
where they still lie beneath his swinging feet.

The doctors say I need to eat.
The doctors say I need to pray,
but praying is for losers
and I'd rather starve all day
at Silver Hill,

Where thinking is for Dreamers,
and the screamers are the sanest
and the losers keep on praying,
But God just doesn't answer
so the prayers end up staying,
and the rest of me starts swaying,

Onward.
With the (youth)quake of the sixties
where the factories and glamour
and the bright lights of the cities
wrap around me like a cobra,
squeezing me until I burst
and gasping on the concrete floor
I found I had a little thirst
for something, really, anything more,

Than when those lights are shining
and HE paints me up like dusk.
It's the electric pulsing filling me,
everytime I smell the dust
that's spilled all over all the floors
and walls and paint and metal beams,
and all the junkies lying there,
are holding up the factory doors.

They say I set the world on fire
but please, oh please, don't leave me here,
alone, here in Manhattan
where it's cold and I'm forgotten.
Why, I'm homeless and I'm trashy,
so I'll take another poke, another toke
another smoke.
Just to forget the lines HE spoke to me,
forget HIS stupid, ugly face.

But even now HE haunts me
as the lights begin to dim,
Oh, promise me, just promise me,
that I will never fade away,
that I will never fade away.

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