The “vicious deadpan” of Lou Reed

Is what rock needed to be freed.

From feedback trance in Drella years

To solo days: your waving fears.

Berlin transformed into New York.

You loved their hateful lives. Your work

Was present’s future birthed, not made,

We profited—you scarce got paid.

Rachel, Sylvia, Laurie knew you’d

Metal cap it all with Lulu.

And now your guitar makes no sound,

All wrapped in velvet underground.