"Guilt stains on my pillow. Blood on my terraces. Torsos in my closet, shadows from my past. Life is real...Breast-feeding myself, what more can I say?" – Queen, Life is Real (Song for Lennon)
Surely when Freddie Mercury walked through the gates of heaven, John Lennon was standing there, waiting with his arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a heavenly iPod next to him softly playing "Life Is Real." "You want to explain this?" he probably said. To which Freddie presumably struck a pose and belted out an impromptu call-and-response scat with the members of Marshall's 1970 Thundering Herd football team.
Apart from that, how would you explain why your tribute to a recently departed, beloved fellow musician was a confusing laundry list of unpleasantness, including "torsos in my closet," and "guilt stains on my pillow?" Had they shared an interest in callisthenic masturbation and dismembered murder-trophies?
I like to think that when the Central Park Strawberry Fields Memorial was being constructed in '85, Yoko Ono sat down with the designers and discussed whether to make "torsos in my closet" or "breastfeeding myself" the centerpiece engraving before deciding to compromise on simply "Imagine."