John Perry Barlow, Electronic Frontier Foundation/Berkman Center for Internet and Society; PC Forum, 1991, Tucson, Arizona

Your mind was like a channel that was tuned to things we needed
You gave us all the words to use if we failed or we succeeded
A lyric comes from somewhere else where streams of letters flow
The answers to life’s questions live where few are born to go
A stream of thought that passes somewhere way up in the sky
Many have tried to catch the magic as it passed them by
Your mind attracted all the words that framed the mystic mission
History reserved a place for it all and gave you that position
It seems today the Lightning has become a little Lazy
Decades of Supplication that are now a little hazy
I’m not sure if you were Lost, a Sailor or a Saint
The canvas was the life you were given and you supplied the paint
Who am I to honor you or write a poem for the poet?
Just another life you touched and might not even know it
There are men who craft the axes, some that cut down trees
Boats that carry lumber to some markets overseas
There are folks who buy the lumber, men who drive in nails
Folks that craft the mighty mast and folks that sew the sails
When the ship is finally done, there are folks that get it sold
The trail of labor often lost when the ship turns into gold
You provided axes and you provided trees
Your words provided lumber that would take us over seas
Your hand held the hammer that would drive so many nails
Your words were the mighty gusts that filled the mighty sails
Your mind was a mighty mast that moved upon the wind
Your messages came from outlaws mixed with some who never sinned
As the story often goes, we see it once again
The treasure falls on the microphone but rarely on the pen
The Music Never Stops because you wrote it into being
I bet right now you’re in a place where what you wrote, you’re seeing
I bet you’re with the wolf that’s sleeping by the silver stream
Living all your lyrics in a neverending dream
No more heartless powers that would tell you what to think
The Spirit wide awake now so the flesh is no longer ink
An Estimated Prophet walks upon the burning shore
You see the Sailor drifting but you know he’s Lost no more
No longer do you Need A Miracle every single day
The inheritance of Brother Essau has finally come your way
I’m sure you’re free as you could be and living out your jam
Listening to the thunder shout, “I AM! I AM!”
I write to you with heartfelt lines yet I Feel Like A Stranger
While going to Hell In A Bucket we avoided most of the danger
If Heaven Helped a Fool like me, I’m sure there’s grace for you
Black Throated wind comes pouring in as this life passes like dew
I know the landscape will be empty now that you have gone
We Can Run but we can’t hide, by faith, we’ll carry on
My love goes to your family and your very best of friends
Because of you we have the gift of song that never ends

Love you forever… See ya on the other side…

Dead To The Core,
Dean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly)

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