Jim Morrison

James Douglas Morrison (8 December 1943 3 July 1971) was an American singer, poet, songwriter, writer, and film director. He is best known as the lead singer and lyricist of The Doors, and is widely considered to be one of the most charismatic frontmen in rock music history. He was also the author of several books of poetry, and the director of a documentary and short film.

Robby Krieger (guitarist), Jim Morrison (vocalist), Ray Manzarek (keyboardist), and John Densmore (drummer).

Lyric Sourced: You know the day destroys the night, Night divides the day, Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side! "Break on Through (To The Other Side)" from The Doors (1967) We chased our pleasures here, Dug our treasures there, But can you still recall The time we cried? Break on through to the other side. "Break on Through (To The Other Side)" from The Doors It hurts to set you free, but youll never follow me. "The End" from The Doors (1967) People are strange when you're a stranger Faces look ugly when you're alone Women seem wicked when you're unwanted Streets are uneven when you're down. "People Are Strange" on the album Strange Days (1967)

At first flash of Eden, we race down to the sea. Standing there on freedoms shore. Waiting for the sun...When you're strange Faces come out of the rain When you're strange No one remembers your name When you're strange. "People Are Strange" on the album Strange Days (1967) Five to one, baby One in five No one here gets out alive, now You get yours, baby I'll get mine Gonna make it, baby If we try. "Five to One" on the album Waiting for the Sun (1968) The old get older And the young get stronger May take a week And it may take longer They got the guns But we got the numbers Gonna win, yeah We're takin' over Come on! "Five to One" on the album Waiting for the Sun (1968) At first flash of Eden, We race down to the sea. Standing there on Freedom's shore. Waiting for the sun... "Waiting for the Sun" on the album Morrison Hotel (1970) This is the strangest life Ive ever known. "Waiting for the Sun" on the album Morrison Hotel (1970) Killer on the road His brain is squirming like a toad. "Riders on the Storm" from the album L.A. Woman (1971). Listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the heartache I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the loss of God. "The Wasp (Texas Radio And The Big Beat)" on the albums L. A. Woman (1971) and An American Prayer (1978) I'll tell you this No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn. "The Wasp (Texas Radio And The Big Beat)" on the albums L. A. Woman (1971) and An American Prayer (1978) Mute nostril agony. "Horse Latitudes"

Don't let me die in an automobile I wanna lie in an open field Want the snakes to suck my skin Want the worms to be my friends Want the birds to eat my eyes As here I lie The clouds fly by "The End; Live in New York" (1970)

The Lords: Notes on Vision (1969)

The Lords have secret entrances and they know disguises. But they give themselves away in minor ways. Too much glint of light in the eye. A wrong gesture. Too long and curious a glance...Yoga powers. To make oneself invisible or small. To become gigantic and reach to the farthest things. To change the course of nature. To place oneself anywhere in space or time. To summon the dead. To exalt senses and perceive inaccessible images, of events on other worlds, in one's deepest inner mind, or in the minds of others. (Windows work two ways, mirrors one way.) You never walk through mirrors or swim through windows. The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game. Cinema has evolved in two paths. One is spectacle. Like the phantasmagoria, its goal is the creation of a total substitute sensory world. The other is peep show, which claims for its realm both the erotic and the untampered observance of real life, and imitates the keyhole or voyeur's window without need of color, noise, grandeur. The subject says "I see first lots of things which dance then everything becomes gradually connected". Few would defend a small view of Alchemy as "Mother of Chemistry", and confuse its true goal with those external metal arts. Alchemy is an erotic science, involved in buried aspects of reality, aimed at purifying and transforming all being and matter. Not to suggest that material operations are ever abandoned. The adept holds to both the mystical and physical work. They can picture love affairs of chemicals and stars, a romance of stones, or the fertility of fire. Strange, fertile correspondences the alchemists sensed in unlikely orders of being. Between men and planets, plants and gestures, words and weather. Cinema returns us to anima, religion of matter, which gives each thing its special divinity and sees gods in all things and beings. Cinema, heir of alchemy, last of an erotic science. The Lords. Events take place beyond our knowledge or control. Our lives are lived for us. We can only try to enslave others. But gradually, special perceptions are being developed. The idea of the "Lords" is beginning to form in some minds. We should enlist them into bands of perceivers to tour the labyrinth during their mysterious nocturnal appearances. The Lords have secret entrances and they know disguises. But they give themselves away in minor ways. Too much glint of light in the eye. A wrong gesture. Too long and curious a glance.

The New Creatures (1969)

I can't believe this is happening I can't believe all these people are sniffing each other & backing away teeth grinning hair raised, growling, here in the slaughtered wind Do you dare deny my potency my kindness or forgiveness? Camel caravans bear witness guns to Caesar. Hordes crawl and seep inside the walls. The streets flow stone. Life goes on absorbing war. Violence kills the temple of no sex. Cool pools from a tired land sink now in the peace of evening Clouds weaken and die. The sun, an orange skull, whispers quietly, becomes an island, & is gone. There they are watching us everything will be dark. The light changed. We were aware knee-deep in the fluttering air as the ships move on trains in their wake. This is it no more fun the death of all joy has come.

An American Prayer (1978)

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind. Me and my mother and father, and a grandmother and a grandfather. were driving through the desert, at dawn, and a truck load of Indian workers had either hit another car, or just I don't know what happened but there were Indians scattered all over the highway, bleeding to death. So the car pulls up and stops. That was the first time I tasted fear. I musta' been about four like a child is like a flower, his head is just floating in the breeze, man. The reaction I get now thinking about it, looking back is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead Indians... maybe one or two of 'em... were just running around freaking out, and just leaped into my soul. And they're still there. Do you know the warm progress under the stars? Do you know we exist? Have you forgotten the keys to the kingdom? Have you been born yet & are you alive? Let's reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives The moths & atheists are doubly divine & dying We live, we die and death not ends it I touched her thigh and death smiled We have assembled inside this ancient & insane theatre To propagate our lust for life & flee the swarming wisdom of the streets resident mockery give us an hour for magic I'm sick of dour faces Staring at me from the T.V. Tower. I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws

I will not go But for a feast of Friends To the Giant family The program for this evening is not new. You have seen This entertainment through and through. You've seen your birth, your life and death; you might recall all of the rest (did you have a good world when you died?) enough to base a movie on? They're making a joke of our universe Let's swim to the moon, uh huh Let's climb through the tide Penetrate the evenin' that the City sleeps to hide Do you know freedom exists in a school book Did you know madmen are running our prisions With'in a jail With'in a gaol With'in a white free protestant maelstrom We're perched headlong on the edge of boredom We're reaching for death on the end of a candle We're trying for something that's already found us.

Unsourced
Hero is someone who rebels or seems to rebel against the facts of existence and seems to conquer them. Obviously that can only work at moments. It can't be a lasting thing. That's not saying that people shouldn't keep trying to rebel against the facts of existence. Someday, who knows, we might conquer death, disease and war. What that book (Lords and New Creatures) is a lot about is the powerlessness that people have in the face of reality. They have no real control over events or their own lives. Something is controlling them. The closest they ever get is the television set. The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free. We must not forget that the lizard and the snake are identified with the unconscious and with the forces of evil. There's something deep in human memory that responds strongly to snakes. Even if you've never seen one. I think that a snake just embodies everything that we fear. I think there's a certain moment when you're right in time with your audience and then you both grow out of it, and you just have to realize that it's not that you have outgrown the audience, it's

just that the audience and you both are too old for that. That has to go on something else, and let the younger people do that. I enjoy drinking. It loosens people up and stimulates conversation. Somehow it's like gambling; you go out for a night of drinking, and you don't know where you'll end up the next morning. It could be good, it could be a disaster. It's a throw of the dice. The difference between suicide and slow capitulation. I like people who shake other people up and make them feel uncomfortable. I like any reaction I can get with my music. Just anything to get people to think. I mean if you can get a whole room full of drunk, stoned people to actually wake up and think, you're doing something. I offer images I conjure memories of freedom that can still be reached like the Doors, right? But we can only open the doors, we can't drag people through. I can't free them unless they want to be free. Maybe primitive people have less bullshit to let go of, to give up. A person has to be willing to give up everything not just wealth. All the bullshit that he's been taught all society's brainwashing. You have to let go of all that to get to the other side. Most people aren't willing to do that. I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps "Oh look at that!" Then whoosh, and I'm gone... and they'll never see anything like it ever again... and they won't be able to forget me ever. I think I was just fed up with the image that had been created around me, which I sometimes consciously, most of the time unconsciously cooperated with. It just got too much for me to really stomach and so I put an end to it one glorious evening. I think the highest and lowest points are the important ones. Anything else is just... in between. I want the freedom to try everything. I wouldn't mind dying in a plane crash. It'd be a good way to go. I don't want to die in my sleep, or of old age, or OD... I want to feel what it's like. I want to taste it, hear it, smell it. Death is only going to happen to you once; I don't want to miss it. I think there's a whole region of images and feelings inside us that rarely are given outlet in daily life. And when they do come out, they can take perverse forms. It's the dark side. Everyone, when he sees it, recognizes the same thing in himself. It's a recognition of forces that rarely see the light of day. The more civilized we get on the surface, the more the other forces make their plea. If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel. No more money, no more fancy dress, This other kingdom seems by far the best. People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.

They claim everyone was born, but I don't recall it. Maybe I was having one of my blackouts. Think of us as erotic politicians. We are from the West. The world we suggest should be of a new wild West, a sensuous, evil world, strange and haunting. The path of the sun. We're like actors, turned loose in this world to wander in search of a phantom, endlessly searching for a half-formed shadow of our lost reality. When others demand that we become the people they want us to be, they force us to destroy the person we really are. It's a subtle kind of murder. The most loving parents and relatives commit this murder with smiles on their faces. When you make peace with authority, you become authority. Whoever controls the media, controls the mind. You are too young to be old... It's The Doors, the name of the band is The Doors. (in response to a DJ announcing to the audience: "Please welcome Jim Morrison and the Doors!") Blake said that the body was the soul's prison unless the five senses are fully developed and open. He considered the senses the 'windows of the soul.' When sex involves all the senses intensely, it can be like a mystical experience. Drugs are a bet with your mind. Film spectators are quiet vampires. Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself-and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That's what real love amounts to-letting a person be what he really is. Hatred is a very underestimated emotion. I am the lizard king. I can do anything. I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown. I think in art, but especially in films, people are trying to confirm their own existences. I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments. Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you. Love cannot save you from your own fate. Music inflames temperament. People fear death even more than pain. It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend. Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it's usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.

Some of the worst mistakes of my life have been haircuts. The appeal of cinema lies in the fear of death. Violence isn't always evil. What's evil is the infatuation with violence. We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict. The first time I discovered death...me and my mother and father, and my grandmother and grandfather, were driving through the desert at dawn. A truckload of Indians had either hit another car or something- there were Indians scattered all over the highway, bleeding to death. I was just a kid, so I had to stay in the car while my father and grandfather went to check it out. I didn't see nothing- all I saw was funny red paint and people lying around, but I knew something was happening, because I could dig the vibrations of the people around me, and all of a sudden I realized that they didn't know what was happening any more than I did. That was the first time I tasted fear...and I do think, at that moment, the souls of those dead Indians- maybe one or two of them-were just running around, freaking out, and just landed in my soul, and I was like a sponge, ready to sit there and absorb it. The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on and individual level. It's got to happen inside first. You can take away a man's political freedom and you won't hurt him- unless you take away his freedom to feel. That can destroy him. That kind of freedom can't be granted. Nobody can win it for you. Each generation wants new symbols, new people, new names. They want to divorce themselves from their predecessors. I think that more than writing and music, my greatest talent is that I have an instinctive knack of self-image propagation. I was very good at manipulating publicity with a few little phrases like 'erotic politicians'. Having grown up with TV and mass magazines, I knew instinctively what people would catch on to, so I dropped those little jewels here and there, seemingly very innocently; of course, I was just calling signals. I like ideas about the breaking away or overthrowing of established order. I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that seems to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road towards freedom - external freedom is a way to bring about internal freedom. Let's just say I was testing the bounds of reality. I was curious to see what would happen. That's all it was: curiosity. The future is uncertain and the end is always near. Each day is a drive thru history. There are things known and there are things unknown and in between are the Doors. [This is a quote from William Blake] Did you know freedom exists in a schoolbook? Mankind still needs a savior such as you! WAKE UP

I think the highest and lowest points for a musician are the most important. Everything in between is well... in between. Ladies and Gentlemen, money beats soul every time, C'mon! (11/4/69 Takes 13-15) Now listen here, I ain't talking 'bout no revolution and I' not talkin' about no demonstrations. Anything you want, let's do it.

Misattributions
You know that it would be untrue You know that I would be a liar If I was to say to you Girl, we couldn't get much higher. Come on baby, light my fire Come on baby, light my fire Try to set the night on fire. "Light My Fire" (1967) Because Jim Morrison sang this as a breakthrough hit for The Doors, and he was the groups primary songwriter, this is often mistakenly thought to have been written by him. It was actually written by guitarist Robby Krieger, and so were some other songs including Love Her Madly, You're Lost Little Girl and Touch Me (and some other songs on the Soft Parade album) etc... However the second verse of the song Light My Fire was written by Morrison. There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception. This was Aldous Huxley, using a term "the doors of perception" which originated with William Blake, but it is sometimes credited to Morrison, because he cited the phrase in interviews as the inspiration for the name "The Doors" without always crediting Huxley as the source...

Track List : Poems, lyrics and stories by Jim Morrison; music by Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger, and John Densmore. 1. Awake 0:36 2. Ghost Song 2:50 3. Dawn's Highway / Newborn Awakening 3:48 4. To Come Of Age 1:02 5. Black Polished Chrome / Latino Chrome 3:22 6. Angels And Sailors / Stoned Immaculate 4:20 7. The Movie 1:36 8. Curses, Invocations 1:58 9. American Night 0:29 10. Roadhouse Blues 6:59 11. Lament 2:19 12. The Hitchhiker 2:16 13. An American Prayer 6:53 The End Albinoni: Adagio Certification: RIAA: Platinum

An American Prayer Jim Morrison November 17, 1978 Jim Morrison Vocals, spoken word Ray Manzarek keyboards, bass Robbie Krieger guitar John Densmore drums

1995 Remastered Edition Awake 1. "Awake" 0:35 2. "Ghost Song" 2:50 3. "Dawn's Highway" 1:21 4. "Newborn Awakening" 2:26 To Come of Age 5. "To Come of Age" 1:01 6. "Black Polished Chrome" 1:07 7. "Latino Chrome" 2:14 8. "Angels and Sailors" 2:46 9. "Stoned Immaculate" 1:33 The Poet's Dream 10. "The Movie" 1:35 11. "Curses, Invocations" 1:57 World on Fire 12. "American Night" 0:28 13. "Roadhouse Blues" 5:53 14. "The World On Fire" 1:06 15. "Lament" 2:18 16. "The Hitchhiker" 2:15 An American Prayer 17. "An American Prayer" 3:04 18. "Hour For Magic" 1:17 19. "Freedom Exists" 0:20 20. "A Feast Of Friends" 2:10 (also known as "The Severed Garden") Bonus tracks: 21. "Babylon Fading" 1:40 22. "Bird Of Prey" 1:03 23. "The Ghost Song" [Extended Version] 5:15

"Awake" Is everybody in? Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. Wake Up! You can't remember where it was Had this dream stopped? "Ghost Song" Shake dreams from your hair My pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign of your day The day's divinity First thing you see. A vast radiant beach in a cool jeweled moon Couples naked race down by it's quiet side And we laugh like soft, mad children Smug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy The music and voices are all around us. Choose they croon the Ancient Ones The time has come again Choose now, they croon Beneath the moon Beside an ancient lake Enter again the sweet forest Enter the hot dream Come with us Everything is broken up and dances. "Dawn's Highway / Newborn Awakening" Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind. Me and my -ah- mother and father - and a Grandmother and a grandfather - were driving through The desert, at dawn, and a truck load of Indian Workers had either hit another car, or just - I don't Know what happened - but there were Indians scattered All over the highway, bleeding to death. So the car pulls up and stops. That was the first time I tasted fear. I musta' been about four - like a child is Like a flower, his head is just floating in the Breeze, man. The reaction I get now thinking about it, looking Back - is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead Indians...maybe one or two of 'em...were just Running around freaking out, and just leaped into my

Soul. And they're still in there. Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind. Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of Venice Blood in my love in the terrible summer Bloody red sun of Phantastic L.A. Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers Blood will be born in the birth if a nation Blood is the rose of mysterious union Blood on the rise, it's following me. Indian, Indian what did you die for? Indian says, nothing at all. "Newborn Awakening Gently they stir, gently rise The dead are newborn awakening With ravaged limbs and wet souls Gently they sigh in rapt funeral amazement Who called these dead to dance? Was it the young woman learning to play the ghost song on her baby grand? Was it the wilderness children? Was it the ghost god himself, stuttering, cheering, chatting blindly? I called you up to anoint the earth I called you to announce sadness falling like burned skin I called you to wish you well To glory in self like a new monster And now I call you to pray "To Come Of Age" A military station in the desert. Can we resolve the past Lurking jaws, joints of time? The Base To come of age in a dry place Holes and caves. My friend drove and hour each day from the mountains The bus gives you a hard-on with books in your lap Someone shot the bird in the afternoon dance show They gave out free records to the best couple Spades dance best, from the hip. "Black Polished Chrome / Latino Chrome" The music was new Black polished chrome And came over the summer Like liquid night.

The DJ's took pills to stay awake And play for seven days They went to the studio And someone knew him Someone knew the TV showman He came to our homeroom party And played records And when he left in the hot noon sun And walked to his car We saw the chooks had written F-U-C-K on his windshield He wiped it off with a rag And smiling cooly drove away He's rich. Got a big car. My gang will get you Scenes of rape in the arroyo Seduction in cars, abandoned buildings Fights at the food stand The dust The shoes Open shirts and raised collars Bright sculptured hair. Hey man, you want girls, pills, grass? C'mon... I show you good time. This place has everything. C'mon... I show you. "Angels And Sailors / Stoned Immaculate" Angels and sailors Rich girls Backyard fences Tents Dreams watching each other narrowly Soft luxuriant cars Girls in garages, stripped Out to get liquor and clothes Half gallons of wine and six-packs of beer Jumped, humped, born to suffer Made to undress in the wilderness. I will never treat you mean Never start no kind of scene I'll tell you every place and person that I've been. Always a playground instructor, never a killer Always a bridesmaid on the verge of fame or over He manouvered two girls into his hotel room One a friend, the other, the young one, a newer stranger Vaguely Mexican or Puerto Rican Poor boys thighs and buttock scarred by a father's belt She's trying to rie Story of her boyfriend, of teenage stoned death games

Handsome lad, dead in a car Confusion No connections Come 'ere I love you Peace on earth Will you die for me? Eat me This way The end I'll always be true Never go out, sneaking out on you, babe If you'll only show me Far Arden again. I'm surprised you could get it up He whips her lightly, sardonically, with belt Haven't I been through enough? she asks Now dressed and leaving The Spanish girl begins to bleed She says her period It's Catholic heaven I have an ancient Indian crucifix around my neck My chest is hard and brown Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin We could plan a murder Or start a religion. "Stoned Immaculate" I'll tell you this... No eternal reward will forgive us now For wasting the dawn. Back in those days everything was simpler and more confused One summer night, going to the pier I ran into two young girls The blonde one was called Freedom The dark one, Enterprise We talked and they told me this story Now listen to this... I'll tell you about Texas radio and the big beat Soft driven, slow and mad Like some new language Reaching your head with the cold, sudden fury of a divine messenger Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of god Wandering, wandering in hopless night Out here in the perimeter there are no stars Out here we is stoned Immaculate. "The Movie" The movie will begin in five moments The mindless voice announced

All those unseated will await the next show. We filed slowly, languidly into the hall The auditorium was vast and silent As we seated and were darkened, the voice continued. The program for this evening is not new You've seen this entertainment through and through You've seen your birth your life and death You might recall all of the rest Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on?. I'm getting out of here Where are you going? To the other side of morning Please don't chase the clouds, pagodas Her cunt gripped him like a warm, friendly hand. It's alright, all your friends are here When can I meet them? After you've eaten I'm not hungry Uh, we meant beaten Silver stream, silvery scream Oooooh, impossible concentration. "Curses, Invocations" Curses, Invocations Weird bate-headed mongrels I keep expecting one of you to rise Large buxom obese queen Garden hogs and cunt veterans Quaint cabbage saints Shit hoarders and individualists Drag strip officials Tight lipped losers and Lustful fuck salesman My militant dandies All strange orders of monsters Hot on the tail of the woodvine We welcome you to our procession Here come the Comedians Look at them smile Watch them dance an Indian mile Look at them gesture How aplomb So to gesture everyone Words dissemble Words be quick Words resemble walking sticks Plant them they will grow

Watch them waver so I'll always be a word man Better then a bird man "American Night" All hail the American night! What was that? I don't know Sounds like guns...thunder. ...Alright! Alright! Alright! Hey, listen! Listen! Listen, man! listen, man! I don't know how many you people believe in astrology... Yeah, that's right...that's right, baby, I...I am a Sagittarius The most philosophical of all the signs But anyway, I don't believe in it I think it's a bunch of bullshit, myself But I tell you this, man, I tell you this I don't know what's gonna happen, man, but I wanna have My kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames Alright! "The World on Fire The World on Fire...Taxi from Africa...The Grand Hotel... He was drunk a big party last night back going back In all directions sleeping these insane hours I'll never wake up In a good mood again I'm sick of these stinky boots "Lament" Lament for my cock Sore and crucified I seek to know you Aquiring soulful wisdom You can open walls of mystery Stripshow How to aquire death in the morning show TV death which the child absorbs Deathwell mystery which makes me write Slow train, the death of my cock gives life Forgive the poor old people who gave us entry Taught us god in the child's praye in the night Guitar player Ancient wise satyr Sing your ode to my cock Caress it's lament Stiffen and guide us, we frozen

Lost cells The knowledge of cancer To speak to the heart And give the great gift Words Power Trance This stable friend and the beast of his zoo Wild haired chicks Women flowering in their summit Monsters of skin Each color connects To create the boat Which rocks the race Could any hell be more horrible Than now And real? I pressed her thigh and death smiled Death, old friend Death and my cock are the world I can forgive my injuries in the name of Wisdom Luxury Romance Sentence upon sentence Words are the healing lament For the death of my cock's spirit Has no meaning in the soft fire Words got me the wound and will get me well I you believe it All join now and lament the death of my cock A tounge of knowledge in the feathered night Boys get crazy in the head and suffer I sacrifice my cock on the alter of silence "The Hitchhiker" Thoughts in time and out of season The Hitchhiker Stood by the side of the road And leveled his thumb In the calm calculus of reason Hi. How you doin'? I just got back into town L.A. I was out on the desert for awhile "Riders on the storm" Yeah. In the middle of it "Riders on the storm" Right... "Into this world we're born"

Hey, listen, man, I really got a problem "Into this world we're thrown" When I was out on the desert, ya know "Like a dog without a bone An actor out on loan" I don't know how to tell you "Riders on the storm" But, ah, I killed somebody "There's a killer on the road" No... "His brain is squirming like a toad" It's no big deal, ya know I don't think anybody will find out about it, but... " take a long holiday" Just, ah... "Let your children play" This guy gave me a ride, and ah... "If you give this man a ride" Started giving me a lot of trouble "Sweet family will die" And I just couldn't take it, ya know "Killer on the road" And I wasted him Yeah "An American Prayer" Do you know the warm progress Under the stars? Do you know we exist? Have you forgotten the keys To the kingdom Have you been borne yet

& are you alive? Let's reinvent the gods, all teh myths Of the ages Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests [Have you forgotten the lessons Of the ancient war] We need great golden copulations The fathers are cackling in trees Of the forest Our mother is dead in the sea Do you know we are being led to Slaughters by placid admirals & that fat slow generals are getting Obscene on young blood Do you know we are ruled by T.V. The moon is dry blood beast Guerrilla bands are rolling numbers In the next block of green vine Amassing for warfare on innocent Herdsman who are just dying O great creator of being Grant us one more hour to Perform our art & perfect our lives The moths & atheists are doubly divine & dying We live, we die & death not ends it Journey we more into the Nightmare Cling to life Our passion'd flower Cling to Cunts & cocks Of despair We got our final vision By clap

Columbus groin got Filled w/green death (I touched her thigh & death smiled) We have assembled inside this ancient & insane theatre To propagate our lust for life & flee the swarming wisdom Of the streets The barns are stormed The windows kept & only one of all the rest To dance & save us W/the divine mockery Of words Music inflames temperament (When the true King's murderers Are allowed to roam free A 1000 Magicians arise in the land) Where are the feasts We are promised Where is the wine The New Wine (dying on the vine) Resident mockery Give us an hour for magic We of the purple glove We of the starling flight & velvet hour We of arabic pleasures's breed We of sundome & the night Give us a creed To believe A nightr of lust Give us trust in The Night

Give of color Hundred hues A rich mandala For me & for you & for your silky Pillowed house A head, wisdom & a bed Troubled decree Resident mockery Has claimed thee We used to believe In the good old days We still receive In little ways The things of Kindness & unsporting brow Forget & allow Did you know freedom exists In school books Did you know madmen are Running our prisons W/in a jail, w/in a gaol W/in a white free protestant Maelstrom We're perched headlong On the edge of boredom We're reaching for death On the end of a candle We're trying for something That's already found us

Wow, I'm sick of doubt Live in the light of certain South Cruel bindings The sevants have the power Dog-men & their mean women Pulling poor blankets over Our sailors I'm sick of dour faces Starong at me from the T.V. Tower, I want roses in My garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies Must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud These mutants, blood-meal For the plant that's plowed They are waiting to take us into The severed garden Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful Comes death on a stranger hour Unannounced, unplanned for Like a scaring over-friendly guest you've Brought to bed Death makes angels of us all & gives us wings Where we had shoulders Smooth as raven's Claws No more money, no more fancy dress This other kingdom seems by far the best Until its other jaw reveals incest & loose obedience to a vegetable law I will not go Prefer a feast of friends To the Giant family