[00:03.26] Artist: Doors
[00:03.66] Album: An American Prayer
[00:04.16] Title: A Feast Of Friends
[00:05.67] Wow, I'm sick of doubt.
[00:07.87] Live in the light of certain.
[00:09.32] South.
[00:09.87] Cruel bindings.
[00:12.47] The servants have the power.
[00:14.68] Dog men and their mean women pulling poor blankets over our sailors.
[00:23.74] I'm sick of dour faces staring at me from the T.V. tower.
[00:33.41] I want roses in my garden bower, dig?
[00:36.98] Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted strangers in the mud.
[00:45.28] These mutants, blood-meal for the plant that's plowed.
[01:10.76] They are waiting to take us into the severed garden.
[01:15.32] Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful comes death on a strange hour?
[01:20.59] Unannounced, unplanned for,
[01:23.09] like a scaring over-friendly guest you've brought to bed.
[01:28.11] Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders
[01:32.47] smooth as raven's claws.
[01:39.17] No more money, no more fancy dress,
[01:41.48] this other kingdom seems by far the best,
[01:44.18] until it's other jaw reveals incest,
[01:47.49] and loose obedience to a vegetable law.
[01:52.04] I will not go.
[01:54.45] Prefer a feast of friends to the giant family.
[02:06.34] M.V.A.