Amy

A Jewish girl from South gate
With hair of sable, she
Kind of got her music from
Her dad Mitch, a cabbie
He would sing those crooners soulful songs
she would join in and he
Could feel her voice had so
Much tone
And the music just flew free

Her head, her heart, it took on
So much
This was what, she was
Seen as, some sort of legend
Truthfully because
She was
She sang her pretty heart out
Really She wanted fame
Really she wanted fortune
And nothing would be the same

She then went on to stage school
At Sylvia Young’s, we knew
She was so precocious
Her path was good and true
She a raw and melodic songstress
She wanted to proclaim
To help people forget their troubles
She needed to inflame

The passion in them
To move them
Profound of thought was she
Really she was against hard drugs
She was passionately
Suffering the pathos
Of life was there to hear
Then she became rebellious
And took on her share of fear

With tattoos and with piercings
She was kind of frowned upon
At Sylvia’s it wasn’t commonplace
The sweetness had kind of gone
Her voice was kind of growing
Her aggression it kept pace
She then went off to Camden
Using that place as her base

Enraptured with her breath
And soul
It all seemed effortlessly
The songs she kind of nailed them all
Through her adversity
Sweeping,moving,transcending bars
relaxed and heavy
Alongside stars

Lovers she loved strong men
Avidly she knew
She had her share of sadness
And exasperation too
Awards came
Blake had entered her life
An explosive jaunt
In love,out of love in love
Such magic seemed to taunt

The heart strings
The emotion
Dark songs
With bad boys,she
Behold the Gothic sixties look
That’s how it had to be
Knocking back the spirits
And the drugs the image ones
Out of torrid tragedies
Back to black saw tons

Of heart aches
Of endurance
The tears and the kitchen floor
Vodka and red wine day drinks
Better than she’d had before
She ‘d stay down till the birds
Began,
singing
You could feel
that constantly
Something kind of got to her for real

Rehab it kind of became
A million dollar earner
She had to take the blame
She went in for a week of it
But it didn’t do much good
They were drunk and high
Which was no lie
There was nothing that she could

Do to stop the downfall
She was the dearest soul
Full of true compassion
in an ever deepening hole
A stomach pump
Adrenaline
The darkness of the room
In that prestigious hotel
They emerged into the gloom

Blood spots clearly everywhere
Scratches on their feet
Faces pale as driven snow
Themselves now they did cheat
The turmoil and the torment
Saw poor Amy go
Death came with his sickle
As she sank ever low

This legendary down to earth
Young women
With a heart so sore
Left this world of music
Lamenting evermore
Rehab had changed nothing
Everything was spent
Drunk on stage
With Blake inside
It apparently had meant
Cancelling so many shows
As the paparazzo knows
Jaffa cakes and vodka
Expletives to the fore
Her records though were booming
Which nobody could ignore

She just about held it together
I love you baby,she
Was killing herself
She was killing herself
As those who loved her could see
It was so disturbing
When Amy passed away
A sea of tears
And of lamentation
Was the price that she did pay

The price of so much suffering
The frustration of it all
The harshness and the roughness
What seemed to overrule
The positives the future
The unsavoury the foul
The pitiful the unendurable
The martyr shows us how

The suicidal tendency
The joblessness the low
The heartache and the heaviness
Which purposefully did grow
The grimness and the sullenness
The misery and pain
The hopeless situation
And The mortal fear and strain