Her bedroom wall was covered
With pictures of dead pop stars.
Some had died in aeroplanes,
Some had died in cars,
Some at the end of a needle,
Some at the end of a gun.
From today’s paper she cut out a picture,
And pinned up the latest one.
Your glory was but fleeting,
You never made Number One,
And she did not know your name
Till you pulled the trigger of your gun.
