April 12, 2011

The Doors - 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
And a cool jeweled moon.
Couples naked race down
By its 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.

Indians scattered on
Dawn's highway bleeding,
Ghosts crowd the young child's
Fragile egg-shell mind.

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
And only one of all the rest will dance & save us
With the divine mockery of words.
Music inflames temperament.

Oh  great creator of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives
We need great golden copulations.
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?

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