Jim Morrison and The Doors - A Feast of Friends
Wow, I'm sick of doubtLive 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 its other jaw reveals incest
And lose obedience to a vegetable law
I will not go
Prefer a feast of friends to the giant family
Written by:
Jim Morrison, John Paul Densmore, Raymond Manzarek, Robert Krieger
Publisher:
Lyrics © Doors Music Company
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