I’m home. What can I say?
My body’s here, my heart’s away
I’ve left it back where the wall is long
I’ve left it back where the gates are strong
Strong enough to keep me out
Strong enough? I doubt.
I’ve left him back in Tennessee
In a grave that my eyes can’t see
But my mind is clear, I see all still
And I’ll be back, I know I will
So I’ll dry my tears, put down my pen
And dream of when we’ll meet again.
They seek him here!
They seek him there!
They seek that singer everywhere!
He’s been seen in New Delhi, Amsterdam and Hong Kong
Heard in Los Angeles singing his song
Sighted in London having lunch with the Queen
There aren’t many places that he hasn’t been!
Appeared in New York at the last Superbowl!
In Phantom of the Opera had a supporting role
People in Berlin tend to recall
How he sang “Wooden Heart” as the bricks started to fall!
Flew over to Calais on his way to Boulogne
He’s now taken to fishing on the Banks of the Boyne
Elvis, Oh Elvis, I’m your biggest fan
Please come to Antrim if you possibly can
I know you can make it, my heart wants you here
I’ll be waiting, my darling, for you to appear!
The thundering beat of the signature tune echoed round the cavernous arena heralding the long awaited arrival of the star attraction. A wave of excitement gripped the crowd and the effect was instantaneous. Silence descended like a gossamer veil, hypnotising them, capturing the essence of anticipatory pleasure emanating in waves from this adoring audience. He was coming. Female hearts beat faster, their breath panting and ragged, limbs melting and flowing in surrender to the stage. Their male escorts would reap the benefits of this night, recipients of the ladies unrequited lust for the entertainer. Lights dimmed, the hall illuminated only by the intermittent shafts of coloured lasers pulsing around the raised platform, in complete coordination with the bouncing beat of the music. The tempo quickened, became bolder, louder, more vibrant, a fitting tribute to the magnificent figure standing centre stage as the curtains slowly lifted. Tall, stately, broad back turned to the crowd, dark head bowed, heightened by the blinding whiteness of the tight fitting jumpsuit he wore. A unified gasp of awe from the spectators, a moment of idolising silence then tumultuous applause as the band broke into “Hound Dog” and he swung round like lightening, all song and sexy, swivelling hips. He was incredible, intoxicating, holding his worshippers in the palm of his hand. The energetic rock n’ roll beat drew them to their feet, instilled their bodies with the dancing rhythm and pierced their souls with pleasurable paganism.
Slow, tender love songs directed at each and every woman in the room, dark smouldering eyes giving the impression you were the only one, left them weak at the knees, screaming his name , offering all that they possessed, despite their escorts objections.
I sighed and snuggled deeper into the deliciously warm nest of my duvet, revelling in the vivid dream of my hero but regretting sadly the fact that it was a dream, only a dream. I didn’t see him perform live, I didn’t get the chance to sit at one of his concerts, soak up the atmosphere and watch in silent adoration as he held court above me, singing only to me or so I could believe. But still he will always be an integral part of my life.
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Phyllis McKenna 