Feast of Friends - The Doors

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Wow, Im sick of doubt                   Im sick of dour faces
Live in the light of certain               Staring at me from the tv
South                                           Tower, I want roses in
Cruel bindings.                              My garden bower; dig?
The servants have the power          Royal babies, rubies
Dog-men and their mean women    Must now replace aborted
Pulling poor blankets over              Strangers in the mud
Our sailors                                    These mutants, blood-meal
                                                    For the plant thats plowed.

They are waiting to take us into                    No more money, no more fancy dress
The severed garden                                     This other kingdom seems by far the best
Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful     Until its other jaw reveals incest
Comes death on a strange hour                    And loose obedience to a vegetable law.
Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest youve
Death makes angels of us all
And gives us wings
Where we had shoulders                              I will not go
Smooth as ravens                                       Prefer a feast of friends
Claws                                                         To the giant family.

 

 

             One of my ...