DOUBLE-FEATURE

That kid was like Aladdin; he had his one wish to be rich and famous, something on top;

climb that ladder, don't stop... the floor's out of sight. Now he's like The Rocketeer; that

boy's got his fucking Nazis to fear. And while the Lion King might stop and leer from his

drab dark jungle lair, Peter Pan has extra pixie dust to share.

That kid was like Aladdin; born to go nowhere, sink into the cobra pit, get quicksand in his hair.

His life was played out in Neverland, alone in the canopies with King Kong and his

bastard chimpanzees. One of the Lost Boys, now, you see; he ain't amounting to anything.

His life never more than a Clockwork Orange, bathing in the chill of night; his being a

Mission to Mars, something with which none could relate.

That kid was like Aladdin, shaking up his magic lamp to find nothing left. Now his

jet-pack's out of juice; he's grounded to the Earth, feet sinking like the Titanic into your

new plush rug. Like Evil Dead, he was possessed, to stand upon a chair. Shout to the

world, let the bells resound A Christmas Carol of pleasures past; that wreath a noose around

his neck.

The circle of life, it's broke and bare; his history comes raining from the air. And the choir,

it did resound an off-tune, scratchy yuletide sound carols of joy and songs of death, to a

Lost Boy's last dying breath.