What am I to do when my hero dies?

What is passion while facing the widespread maw of mortality?

They’ve said your legacy will live through the echoes of time
And I’ve agreed
But who’s to say it’s not just another “they say”?

Oh, you button eyed wonder,
Gender bending confusion,
Egomaniac extraterrestrial,
Melodramatic messiah,
White nosed Duke,
Thin ribbed joy,
I know you.
You’re comedian, chameleon, corinthian and caricature.
You’re internal, eternal, immovable, and immortal.
But it’s boiled down to a cry,

“Mama… I’m scared, Mama.
I’m scared of death, Mama,
I’m scared of mortality, Mama,
I’m scared of silence, Mama,
I’m scared of quiet, Mama,”

And the cry is responded,
And I can almost see those lightning bolt eyes,
“There is no need to be scared.
You’re a blackstar, boy.”