Why are we sad when when an artist dies?
Is it because we saw some spark of ourselves in them?
Or is it more like we adopted a part of them into our consciousness?
Does knowing that they have reached some vague finality mirror our dread of it?
You made life more bearable through many a shift,
Many a hard task, many a sad time.
Mel's crew members have been departing this pale blue dot for many years,
But somehow your leaving stings with a more solemn blade.
You lived among a culture that does not particularly reward comedians as artists,
Yet by that same token, we seldom ever blow their brains out in a theater.
You made me laugh, now you make me cry.
Mongo like Hedley.
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