The Last Artist

The star is Dead,
They hold a meeting,
The cash they made from him,
Increasing now,
Soon it will be fleeting.

But wasn't he working on something,
Before he died,
Maybe not,
Maybe he lied.

They look and find,
A wonderful gold mine,
Dozens of songs!
All unreleased!

Would the money never cease?
What a wonderful time!
There must be 10 more years of stuff here,
10 at least!

Would they get it had he lived?
No, not a piece!

And those in charge were so happy,
When the last musician was deceased.