I'm changing into funeral clothes in my hotel room alone, anxious about what I'll find. The TV plays old videos, and a youthful Axl Rose suggests that patience is required. He says, "(whistle)". The day's cascading gloom, coupled with summer's sick perfume delivers memories of you…of every thrilling bit of flesh, revealed quite by accident, that left me breathless and confused. It followed that we couldn't sleep...consumed by new realities. And at night the stars and planets, they lined up just as you would command them. They'd move in little circles, present their light just so they could alert you. Now your tormentors, neatly shod, curtsey stiffly before god, whose existence they've imperilled with their homophobic shit; with every wound that they inflict with their remorseless, empty stares. But your eyes once shone, devoid of fear; so blue they bordered on clear. They challenged every source of light. Now the tide of the morning sun just reminds me that you're gone…and how we all left you behind. Chorus.