To Find A Song, To Sing, That Rocking King. Poem by Michael Gale

A kingly thing, that king, that king...
To find a song, to sing, that king.

He sold alot, that king he sing...
He acted of roles, that kingly sing.

He girated his hips that king who sing'ed...
He sang a lot of songs that worshipped king.

He had many of fans that saw him sing...
He died at a young tendered age, that rock'n'roll king.

At forty two he died, that king...
Now famous of all, that king did sing.

May he rest in peace that sleeping king...
He had many of fans, that singing king.

Initials E. P. that once singing king...
Laid to rest, that once singing happy king.

A shadowed presence befalls those who heard him sing...
The shadow of fame crosses the grave, after he sing.

His record sales has risen since he died...
He was the king and will always be, even after he finally hath lied.