The Severed Garden

wow, im sick of doubt, live in the life of certain, south, cruel bindings, the servants have the power, dogmen and theyre 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, the plant thats ploughed.
They are waiting to take us into the severed garden, you know how pale and wanton, thrillful comes death in the strange hour, unannounced, unplanned for like the scary over friendly guest you brought to bed.
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens 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

Jim Morrison