August 21, 2025 (Ars Punk)

For want of hole, the heart remained whole.
For want of a whole, the band remained sound.
For want of a sound, the guitar found a chord.
For want of a chord, Joe Strummer formed a world.

Mad, cracked-tooth hippy –
Angry son of diplomats –
Ignored by a father –
Deserted by a brother.

Wild poet of Ladbroke Grove,
Council house lay about,
Cortez of London who burned
His books for three-chord rock.

Clumsy guitar hero!
Crazed, stage stomper!
You did not make the Era
But you took it for your own.

For want of a record I found his words.
For want of his words, I saw a world.
For want of a world, I grabbed a pen.
For want of a pen, I learned to sing.

Joe Strummer! Enemy of gimmick-hungy yobs!
Joe Strummer! Saint of the Holy Cassette Deck!
Joe Strummer! Watcher of that great Jazz note!

For you, today, I wear blue and brown, Joe Strummer!
All days are days for you, Joe Strummer! Joe Strummer.