Morrison

He was lost and I don´t think

he wanted it that way

Like a gull blown inland

on a stormy day

Lost in round one

splitting out pieces of his teeth

Lost in a Paris graveyard

carrying his own wreath

And I have seen that movie

and it wasn´t like that

He was mad and lonely

and blind as a bat

To the bridge and the falling tree

Too deaf to hear his own song

You see

How does anyone get to there

We may never know

How they got that far

or what made them go

But he had flown from his homeland

You could see him there

A gull circling in the high desert air

And somehow I have to learn from this

´Cause I can hear him cry and feel the hiss

of the wind of his feathers

and the sun on his feet

As he dies in the desert

on that Paris street