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 you’ll 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 freedom’s 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 I’ve 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
An American Prayer – Jim Morrison –
12. The Hitchhiker – 2:16
November 17, 1978 13. An American Prayer – 6:53
The End
Jim Morrison – Vocals, spoken word Albinoni: Adagio
Ray Manzarek – keyboards, bass
Robbie Krieger – guitar Certification:
John Densmore – drums RIAA: Platinum

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