A Feast Of Friends Lyrics - 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. 

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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 

Photos 

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. I prefer a feast of friends to the Giant Family.