So confident but insecure,
the bearded giant who was so sure,
he knew so much yet died so young.
Words of comedy, intelligence, wisdom
flowed easily from his tongue.
Remember that 90 degree day in May,
Even then he wouldn't put that wool jacket away.
To be hot and sweaty was the price he had to pay,
to look nice, and he always did, I must say.
Sitting at home drinking Steel Reserve from the can,
or sitting there in the corner Stella in hand,
if the music was playing, it was always his man.
He was the biggest Tom Waits fan.
Pacing through that house he called his mind,
Searching for something,
writing down the things he'd find,
for us his friends to read in time.
Keeping it entertaining, real, yet still sublime.
Every evening, he's still at the Sod,
his second home,
so don't be sad, don't cry and moan,
for today and forever,
none of us will be drinking alone.
Have faith my friends, Jamie is still near,
and finally when your time comes have no fear,
he'll be waiting with a stool, a smile and a beer.
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