4 de fevereiro de 2010

By Morrison's grave



You were the Spy in House of Love,
The King Snake that made me wake.
But you lie and crawl no more.
I search your soul far in some shore.
Your poetry glow and we still Howl.

Forever embraced by your sweet heroin.
Finally resting, forever the end.
All the Indians in your tomb scream high:
You were the shaman and we are your tribe.

Jim Morrison sings no more.
Mojo Rising
Can't be our guide!
We are lost in the night
And no day comes to destroy it.

Still taking poison and good times.
But Rock 'n' Roll is dead. Yeah!

We fuck and drink and buzz.
We love and hate and feel.
We search for light and all's night.
I woke this morning and I got myself
Here – to your grave.
I have this longing. I crave
To crawl a little while longer.

I try to wake your soul.
But you are dead my friend.
So rest and sleep well.
You had enough you had it all.
So have with me one last beer.
Here is to you, Jim Morrison!

Um comentário:

Bruno Cave disse...

I actually wrote this while sitting in front of Morrison's grave. I like going to other peoples's tomb.