Performer Extraordinaire

Ian Kevin Curtis was a singer, songwriter and musician, Who had a dark baritone voice and a dancing style his own? A well-read boy said to be an intelligent child, displaying A flair for poetry. Not with anger but with energy and mood. He spearheaded the band. Joy Division, to the forefront Of the post-punk movement. A strong-willed individual With a keen interest in fashion. Curtis worked on his songs In what his wife, Deborah, called his 'song-writing room.' Curtis was diagnosed with epilepsy, described as severe, He would take anticonvulsants to bring seizures under control. The effect was limited, leading to disruptive mood swings, That even prevented him from holding his baby daughter. He wrote words that would be lived in his song lyrics But love, love will tear us apart again Love, love will tear us apart again Then love, love will tear us apart again Love, love will tear us apart again With forthrightness, Curtis was an unabashed genius Curtis was a performer extraordinaire A genie in a bottle that could not be controlled Breaking the bonds and chains of social convention, Social norms, the norms of slaving away every day, With no voice and no spirit or feeling, feeling, feeling With nothing to hide or pretend. He was amongst the living and not the dead unfeeling. Sing song lyrics that had angst and meaning For a new poverty-struck tribe. It haunts, haunts - haunts us even today in our silence. They walked in line, they walked in line, They walked in line, they walked in line And now it's us walking around in zombie costumes To melancholic tunes chosen specially to fit us today, Singing like yellow canaries without a soul, caged. Chained little birds that have never truly flown, You exist on the Best terms you can without grief, You exist desperately trying not to commit A public disorder, a crime by mistake Apart from the crime of being born. The crime of searching for another neutral look That ultimately shouts, screams and says leave me alone. I do not have a country, or a family, or even an identity And much less a home. That is why I am losing control, angst with rage. Clinging to a contract iPhone. That is why I am still here, Pseudonym unknown. On the brink of tears, Having tears, tears in my eyes, for all those forgotten years praying for a New Order.