The universe has no walls to break down, only lightless corners to chart. Yes, death is a dark matter, but science is all brightness. read about Vera Rubin here
Once, it was all bad boys, making rules for fools. You got wise, got the moves, but now it's time to go-go, and it's us who have to wake up. Read about George Michael here
The spectres interrupt the final soundcheck with some sorry news and everyone stops to watch you connect those twelve bars of blues. read about Rick Parfitt here
Relax, dahlink, you were somehow more than what you left behind; all those rich lawyers, relieved wives, the deposit box brimming with diamonds. read about Zsa Zsa Gabor here
In a million bedsits, crumpled hearts, friable souls will forever call to the bard of the bruised to touch their imperfect bodies with his mind Read about Leonard Cohen here
In the suburbs of sound your endless groove was always the best in town, and if we needed to get up you helped us get down. Read about Rod Temperton here
This poem is the flight of a good drive, the joy of a good lie, the match dormie, the silent gallery as the last putt drops into the cup. Read about Arnold Palmer here
The rudest of boys is now ghost dancing, issuing his own Ten Commandments, showing the company of the skies how to whine an' grine. Read about Prince Buster here
Others were feathered by Costume gilded by Makeup fixed in time by the lens but when they opened their mouths it was you, it was you. Read about Marni Nixon here
They say prophets go unrecognised, particularly in New York. The truth? Frankie Teardrop died and America is still killing its youth. Read about Alan Vega here
Dead my arse! She looked alright to me down the Feathers last week Who's that ringing so late? Someone at the gate Get that will you, our Gabriel Read about Caroline Aherne here
Here is the man the Trumpton man now lost in time hopelessly regrettably fading too quickly moving too slowly now lost in time in Trumpton Read about Gordon Murray here
Nothing was all right without you; shoes were not blue, the jailhouse was cold, we played no Creole. There was rock, but no roll. Read about Scotty Moore here
Oh, you pretty thing! Show us one more time the thunder in your hands, the lightning in your feet, the defiance on your lips, the poetry of victory. read about Muhammad Ali here
Old Chinese proverb say (though it could be Japanese) No man can wear a million faces but a million faces can sometimes wear one Read about Burt Kwouk here
Those angels. Just look; lacy shifts and feathers. At their age they should know better. Theda Bara meets Violet Carson. Black? Very slimming. Read about Victoria Wood here
Your train is coming, every boxcar stuffed with lonesome fugitives copying your style. It slows, stops. One car is empty, just for you. Climb on. Read about Merle Haggard here