The End (American Pie, Don McLean)

Working through my feelings on the end of LOST a couple weeks ahead of time. Darlton, are you listening?

The End (A LOSTie’s Salute)

A long, long time ago,
Back when television was an idle, passionless routine,
An epic promo stopped me cold.
It seemed like cinematic gold
Created for a more convenient screen.
A fiery crash, a pressing query,
A score that sounded more than eerie.
I embraced this new show,
This fresh Robinson Crusoe,
This stunning tale of tattered lives.
Even if I’m pleased with who survives,
It’s sure to cut like John Locke’s knives
The day The End arrives.

A dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.
Hate to bid the Island goodbye.

Do you know I came to love
All the folks who fell from far above
In September of ‘04?
And I soon made room inside my soul
For one crazed Scotsman in a hole
And Ben, who isn’t Henry anymore.
I’ve envisioned Richard as a sage
Since I noticed that he doesn’t age.
Fantastic Frank’s a find,
And I dig dear dizzy Dan's mind.
I sympathized with Dogen’s tragic case,
And Ilana touched me with her quiet grace.
I just don’t see how I can face
The day The End arrives.

I guarantee a dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.
Hate to bid the Island goodbye.

Now for six years, it’s been on the air.
No other series can quite compare
In terms of sheer complexity.
Every episode hides a crucial clue.
Stranger in a Strange Land matters too,
Though tattoos are not exactly key.
Who’d’ve thought that run-down DHARMA van
Would fuel a hero’s rescue plan?
Who knew the code equates
To Jacob’s Candidates?
You’ve dropped crumbs along the twisted trail.
What tiny Season One detail
Will clinch who wins and who will fail
The day The End arrives?

I’m convinced a dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.
Hate to bid the Island goodbye.

Faith and reason, loyalty and treason,
Enigmas deepening every season.
Cuselof, I tip my hat.
The polar bears, Hurley bird
And ancient monster are so absurd;
I appreciate it all the more for that.
There’s a four-toed statue on the beach.
When wet Walt spouted garbled speech
And Jacob’s cabin shook,
I had to take another look.
How do pylons form a Smokey shield
And why are Temple bathers healed?
What mysteries will be revealed
The day The End arrives?

I guarantee a dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.
Hate to bid the Island goodbye.

Now all those phrases are in my head,
Like “Are you him?” and “Dead is dead”
And “Live together, die alone.”
“Don’t mistake a coincidence for fate!”
And Jack’s cry, “We have to go back, Kate!”
By leaps and bounds, the lexicon has grown.
It’s always a hoot to spout the names
So snarkily assigned by James.
Though “Jabba’s” kinda mean,
I’m keen on “Mr. Clean”.
All the allusions make me feel obtuse.
How many more will you produce?
My library card will get some use
The day The End arrives.

I’m convinced a dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.
Hate to bid the Island goodbye.

I said farewell to Jin and Sun.
Sadly, Charlie’s rock star days are done -
In this dimension, anyway.
Scott and Eko had violent deaths,
And I always will remember Seth’s,
Since you deigned to turn the pilot into prey.
From fatal falls and time disease
To filicide (curse you, Eloise!),
You’ve shown a special talent
For killing off the gallant.
Michael wound up a remorseful ghost.
Sayid repented and then was toast.
I wonder who I’ll miss the most
The day The End arrives.

I guarantee a dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.
Hate to bid the Island goodbye.

I’m convinced a dry eye will be hard to come by.
No more series, no more theories,
No more castaway high,
And at this point, I’d be a fool to deny
That I hate to bid the Island goodbye.