Letras
Born under Baltimore skies, June of seventy-nine,
A kid with a restless soul and a fire in his mind.
Took that hurt he carried and turned it into sound,
Found a truth in troubled hearts, wrote it all down.
A man of forty-six, still weathered by the fight,
Far too young to vanish from the light.
But these choices are personal, the mind gets very dark,
It only takes a moment to extinguish any spark.
Every role a confession, every scene with intend,
He showed that acting was art, not just pretend.
Here's to the one who played Ziggy down by the docks,
A fragile spark in a world made of steel and rocks.
To every part that let a little broken sunlight fly.
James made his mark, we now say goodbye.
You spoke of pain unchosen, shadows no child should know,
You loved the bands that taught you how to guard your soul.
A little punk-born backbone saying don't sell out the heart,
From Fugazi's quiet ethics to the honesty in art.
You chased the raw expression, a truth instead of fame,
Held a family close and searched for meaning in the flame.
Los Angeles silence on a winter night,
Forty-six years to burn that bright.
Somewhere between Iggy's fearlessness,
And Eno's mindful breath,
You tried to find a language for living past the wreck.
But sometimes the weight breaks even the strongest hold,
And questions stay unanswered, stories left untold.
So here's to the man behind the haunted eyes,
Who showed the truth instead of perfect lies.
On screens you left your history, nothing to pretend,
Your spark survives the credits at the end.
If you walk with a darkness you never deserved,
If memories cut deeper than the world has heard,
Reach out, don't stand alone at that shaking edge.
Depression lies, and trauma hides its pledge.
Your story isn't finished when hope runs thin.
There's a hand to take, and daylight waiting to begin.