LONDON -- "Look up here, I'm in heaven. I've got scars that can't be seen."
Suddenly Monday, following the news that David Bowie has died aged 69 following a long battle with cancer, the opening words of his last single and video, "Lazarus," have taken on a whole new meaning.
In fact, many of the song's lyrics ("I'll be free, just like that bluebird") and also the clip's imagery, of the blindfolded singer clutching the sheets of a hospital bed and stretching his arms to the ceiling, pose an inescapable question: Did Bowie intend "Lazarus" as his swansong?
Here's a closer, scene-by-scene look at the video, which opens on a lingering shot of a wooden wardrobe cloaked in darkness.
Finally, after an almost interminable wait during which the tension of the scene is counted out in drums and sparse strumming, two fingers appear to push the door open.
A face appears briefly, barely discernible in the darkness.
As woozy saxophones and screeching guitars join in, we pass along the blankets shrouding a figure in a bed, past hands clutching on tightly and on to Bowie, dressed in white and blindfolded, buttons covering his eyes. His hair stands straight as if he's been shocked.
"Look up here, I'm in heaven," he sings. "I've got scars that can't be seen."
The scene is beautifully shot, a harsh white light to the right of the camera casting a shadow of his profile onto the pillow.
Bowie quickly follows with: "I've got drama, can't be stolen. Everybody knows me now." This could conceivably be a reference to his legacy, his life ongoing after death, Lazarus-like, through the spectacular output of his career.
Lazarus has long been a byword for rebirth. Lazarus of Bethany was restored to life by Jesus four days after his death in the Gospel of John, and everyone from Dostoevsky to Nick Cave have referenced the story.
Director Johan Renck, who's made videos for Madonna, The Libertines and Lana Del Rey among others, and helmed several episodes of Breaking Bad, wouldn't be drawn on the symbolism in the longer, ten minute short film that was released last year,
"Most things like this are for the eyes of the beholder, you know?" he told Vice. "You make of it whatever you want."
He did, however, say that working on "Lazarus" was essentially a dream come true. “One could only dream about collaborating with a mind like that; let alone twice," he said. "Intuitive, playful, mysterious and profound... I have no desire to do any more videos knowing the process never ever gets as formidable and fulfilling as this was. I’ve basically touched the sun."
The camera pans out, revealing he's lying on a hospital bed.
Then we're under the bed, watching a figure reach out a hand towards him.
The hand stretches up and up, aiming for Bowie's prone body.
Coincidentally or in response, Bowie rises in bed, almost levitating under the sheets. "Look up here man, I'm in danger," he sings. "I've got nothing left to lose."
The camera does a full 180 and suddenly Bowie is facing downwards. "I'm so high it makes my brain whirl," he continues, possibly a reference to any medication he might have been taking.
The camera moves back under the bed where the figure has gone but a heeled shoe lies in its place. "Dropped my cell phone down below. Ain't that just like me," he continues.
Suddenly the song explodes into life, and another version of Bowie in a stripey outfit appears, dancing and singing reminiscences.
"By the time I got to New York, I was living like a king. Then I used up all my money. I was looking for your ass."
The dancing Bowie reaches out in the direction of the bed.
"This way or no way, you know I'll be free" the bedridden Bowie sings, voices echoing off into the ether. "Just like that bluebird, now ain’t that just like me."
The version of Bowie that was dancing dramatically brandishes a pen, before wondering what to write and eventually settling down to pen something at a table.
"Oh I'll be free, just like that bluebird," he repeats.
The scenes get more frenetic, switching between the figure in the room, the glammed up Bowie writing at the table, and the Bowie in the bed reaching to the ceiling.
At the writing desk, he appears to have flashes of inspiration and scribbles so fast he writes off the page. Is it an epitaph? A note to someone? We're kept guessing, but a skull rests significantly on the writing table.
Finally, a wide shot from the heavens reveals Bowie in bed, before his dancing self jitters his way backwards into that cupboard.
Several fingers close the door and the song dies away in crunching riffs.
Some fans have insisted that Bowie meant 'Lazarus' as a parting bow.
Leave it to Bowie to not only write his own epitaph, but sing it and make a video of it too. Beautiful man. RIP https://t.co/kfNRThqt7W— RocksEm (@RocksEm) January 11, 2016
OMG He did it. That beautiful SOB. He turned his own death into artistic expression. Genius to the end. Lazarus https://t.co/VxuWdwoOCF— Benevolent Knievel (@Varkentine) January 11, 2016
Producer Tony Visconti, meanwhile, who's worked with Bowie throughout his career, from 1969's Space Oddity to 2016's Blackstar, said "his death was no different from his life - a work of art."
We may never know its true meaning - unpicking Bowie's brain completely would be no fun - but we do know this: He remained as enigmatic and compelling as ever until the end.
BONUS: Remembering the music of David Bowie across 6 decades
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