Newborn Awakening - Jim Morrison, The Doors

Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding.

Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile egg-shell mind

Blood in the streets

In the town of New Haven.

Blood stains the roofs

And the palm trees of Venice.

Blood in my love

In the terrible summer.

Bloody red sun of Phantastic L.A.

Blood screams her brain

As they chop off her fingers.

Blood will be born

In the birth of a nation.

Blood is the rose of Mysterious union.

Blood on the rise,

It’s following me.

Indian, Indian

What did you die for?

Indian says nothing at all.

Gently they stir.

Gently rise.

The dead are new-born awakening.

With ravaged limbs

And wet souls.

Gently they sigh

In rapt funeral amazement.

Who called these dead to dance?

Was it the young woman

Learning to play the «Ghost Song»

In her baby grand

Was it the wilderness children?

Was it the Ghost-God himself,

Stuttering, cheering,

Chatting blindly?

I called you up to Annoint the earth.

I called you to announce

Sadness falling like

Burned skin.

I called you to wish you well

To glory in self like a new monster

And now I call on you to pray.