Bongoe drums and bullfights,

Swining days and reckless nights -

In Technicolor or Black and White,

Wrong or right, he'll win the fight -

Caught in a dusty haze -

till his final days

With wealth and fame,

engulfed by flame

with a need to feed, this lust for speed

can only lead, to the end

In red blazers and violence -

in misty eyes and gleaming hair,

in youth and innocence, the devil may care -

In confidence, and despair -

of rules and laws, for this Rebel without a cause

"You're tearing me apart!"

Interest in the dying arts...

Like a soldier, without a heart -

But this love for art will never die.

Strong and raw, with a heavy sigh -

Icy rebel, afraid to cry...

With dirty hands, he's on his knees -

Bullets in hand, an aim to please

In his stare, a glare, a reflection

of a oppressed era -

The hopes and fears of a lost generation.

The desperate tears, of a nation -

Heavy hearts, and unsettled bets.

Chocolate malts, and cigerettes -

Ink on paper,

Paint on canvas,

Script in hand,

A greater artist was never seen -

Than in the soul,

of James Dean.