Punching far above his weight but, my Christ, how it works every single goddamn time
In it to absolutely win it, taking everything on, forever on song like possibly no other who may have ever come before him
Quite literally too – a voice truly sent from above, the likes of which might just end up putting Leonard Cohen to envious shame
Tame the beast, to hell with that… let every last piece of it on out
A monster in musclebound disguise, as though he has smoked a billion-and-one cigarettes before taking to his particularly rip-roaring stage
Prising the whole damn thing wide open, akin to something so far from normal
The audience, they cannot but swarm with crazed delight every single time
A percentile of his lust for life just might be nice

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