The Doors - A Feast Of Friends
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.
More The Doors's lyrics
A Feast Of Friends
A Little Game
A Twentieth Century Fox
Adolph Hitler (Live At The Boston Gardens, Boston, 1970)
Alabama Song
Alabama Song (whiskey Bar)
Albinoni's Adagio In G Minor
American Night
An American Prayer / Hour For Magic / Freedom Exists / A Feast Of Friends
Angels And Sailors
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| Artist:
The Doors |
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| Title:A Feast Of Friends
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| Submit by:HotLyrics Team
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