โหลดเพลง mp3 A Feast of Friends - The Doors

A Feast Of Friends - The Doors
Wow, I'm sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South
Cruel bindings.

The servants have the power
dog-men and their mean women

pulling poor blankets over
our sailors

I'm sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the TV
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 and wanton thrillful
comes death on a strange hour

unannounced, unplanned for

like a scaring over-friendly guest you've
brought to bed

Death makes angels of us all
and 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 it's other jaw reveals incest

and loose obedience to a vegetable law.

I will not go

Prefer a Feast of Friends
To the Giant Family.