They say Prince enjoyed a good fado
and even traveled to Lisbon, now and then,
to bathe in its mysterious, noble sound:
a music of sailors on long voyages to unknown,
distant places far from their home country –
of women selling fish down the winding streets
of Mouraria and Alfama, singing prayer songs
for their lovers’ safe returns,
wailing blues songs for a love forever lost.
Fado’s essence is its poetry – the music follows,
sets the stage, and Prince was ok with that,
at least he played his guitar like he was.
From the words, the sounds emit,
and from the sounds, the music soon escapes –
a fleeting moment, pure, distilled.
And Prince soon slipped Earth’s surly bonds
and just as quickly scaled eternity.