I was 24 when Kurt cobain died
He was my musical hero I idolised
I had a ticket to see the band play
Sadly it was the same day of his
Suicide, the King of grunge on a
Downward spiral from the top of
His fame, drugs sex and rock and
Roll yes another but out on his own
Running away from addiction his death
In hindsight was an easy prediction he
Said he was withdrawn and antisocial
But his fans were left numb by his death
Drawn to the darkness of seattle, loud angry
And caotic, the Marco polo motel room 226
Was the place to get his fix, but nevermind
In the final few days he seen his way out
Our King of grunge shot himself in a green
House, that was his way south troubled but
Frogiven, at the age of 27 he joined the golden
Age of those who gave it all, idolised eternaly.