ok here we go...
There he was, old Mr [color=orange]Ripple
Smiling, unhidden dimple.
He was ninety-three
Had a busted knee
And skin with many a wrinkle!
Come to me, my love.
Said he, and looked above.
God took my hand
To the promised land
You come too, follow my dove!
No, said I, it's too intense
I can't stand their pretence.
Seen their true colour
Devoid of all valour
And they don't make any sense!
Dusk was fast approaching
the island quickly
darkening
I am cold,
to him I told.
Come, he said, let's go to the king.
His embrace wonderfully soft,
tender,
This milieu gettng pleasantly warmer.
I am flying
I'm not dying
Look, the dove is getting nearer![/color]
Like your's JLennon, it has connotations of death in it. 
