Lyrik von Jim Morrison 7 ...
K
L
M
N
O
ODE
TO L.A.
WHILE THINKING OF BRIAN JONES, DECEASED
I'm
a resident of a city
They've just picked me to play
the Prince of Denmark
Poor Ophelia
All
those ghosts he never saw
Floating to doom
On an iron candle
Come
back, brave warrior
Do the dive
On another channel
Hot
buttered pool
Where's Marrakesh
Under the falls
the wild storm
where savages fell out
in late afternoon
monsters of rhythm
You've
left your
Nothing
to compete w/
Silence
I
hope you went out
Smiling
Like a child
Into the cool remnant
of a dream
The
angel man
w/Serpents competing
for his palms
& fingers
Finally claimed
This benevolent
Soul
Ophelia
Leaves,
sodden
in silk
Chlorine
dream
mad stifled
Witness
The
diving board, the plunge
The pool
You
were a fighter
a damask musky muse
You
were the bleached
Sun
for TV afternoon
horned-toads
maverick of a yellow spot
Look
now to where it's got
You
in
meat heaven
w/the cannibals
& jews
The
gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky
Stiff
What is this green pale stuff
You're made of
Poke
holes in the goddess
Skin
Will
he Stink
Carried heavenward
Thru the halls
of music
No chance.
Requiem
for a heavy
That smile
That porky satyr's
leer
has leaped upward
into the loam
Copyright © 1988 Wilderness Publications