He is a black peacock
With a cuckoo in his vocal cords
He rocked, rolled and whirled
Slid and glided guiding trillions
To the heaven’s threshold
With his tunes and croons
Marooned his fans in Rapture Island
Can this world ever have another Michael Jackson?
By this time Gods must have gone crazy
With Jackson dancing in heavens
Can we expect angels, seraphs, cherubs and so on
Reeling in Jackson magic
Attend to their daily routine?
