Text: The Doors. Angels And Sailors.

Angels and sailors
rich girls
backyard fences
tents

Dreams watching each other narrowly
soft luxuriant cars
Girls in garages, stripped
out to get liquor and clothes
half gallons of wine and six-packs of beer
Jumped, humped, born to suffer
made to undress in the wilderness.



I will never treat you mean

Never start no kind of scene

I'll tell you every place and person that I've been.



Always a playground instructor, never a killer

Always a bridesmaid on the verge of fame or over

He manouvered two girls into his hotel room

One a friend, the other, the young one, a newer stranger

Vaguely Mexican or Puerto Rican

Poor boys thighs and buttock scarred by a father's belt

She's trying to rie

Story of her boyfriend, of teenage stoned death games

Handsome lad, dead in a car

Confusion

No connections

Come 'ere

I love you

Peace on earth

Will you die for me?

Eat me

This way

The end



I'll always be true

Never go out, sneaking out on you, babe

If you'll only show me Far Arden again.



I'm surprised you could get it up

He whips her lightly, sardonically, with belt

Haven't I been through enough? she asks

Now dressed and leaving

The Spanish girl begins to bleed

She says her period

It's Catholic heaven

I have an ancient Indian crucifix around my neck

My chest is hard and brown

Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin

We could plan a murder

Or start a religion.