Dal disco  An American Prayer  (1995)



Testi poetici e voce:  James Douglas Morrison  (1943-1971)


Produzione musicale: John Densmore, Robby Krieger, Ray Manzarek, con Frank Lisciandro



01 – An American Prayer  ( ascolta il file mp3 )


02 – Hour for magic  ( ascolta il file mp3 )


03 – Freedom exists  ( ascolta il file mp3 )


04 – Lament   ( ascolta il file mp3 )






Do you know the warm progress under the stars?


Do you know we exist?


Have you forgotten the keys to the Kingdom


Have you been borne yet & are you alive?


Let’s reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages


Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests


[Have you forgotten the lessons of the ancient war]


We need great golden copulations


The fathers are cackling in trees of the forest


Our mother is dead in the sea


Do you know we are being led to slaughters by placid admirals

& that fat slow generals are getting obscene on young blood


Do you know we are ruled by T.V.


The moon is a dry blood beast


Guerilla bands are rolling numbers in the next block of green vine

amassing  for warfare on innocent herdsmen who are just dying


O great creator of being

grant us one more hour to perform our art & perfect our lives


The moths & atheists are doubly divine & dying


We live, we die

& death not ends it


Journey we more into the Nightmare


Cling to life

                Our passion’d flower


Cling to cunts & cocks of despair


We got our final vision by clap


Columbus’ groin got filled w/green death


(I touched her thigh & death smiled)


We have assembled inside this ancient & insane theatre


To propagate our lust for life & flee the swarming wisdom of the streets


The barns are stormed


The windows kept

& only one of all the rest


To dance & save us


W/the divine mockery of words


Music inflames temperament


(When the true King’s murderers

are allowed to roam free

a 1000 Magicians arise in the land)


Where are the feasts

we were promised


Where is the wine

The New Wine

               (dying on the vine)





resident mockery

give us an hour for magic

We of the purple glove

We of the starling flight & velvet hour

We of arabic pleasure’s breed

We of sundome & the night

Give us a creed

To believe

A night of Lust

Give us trust in

The Night

Give of color

hundred hues

a rich mandala

for me & you

& for your silky

pillowed house

a head, wisdom

& a bed

Troubled decree

Resident mockery

has claimed thee

We used to believe

in the good old days

We still receive

In little ways

The Things of Kindness

& unsporting brow

Forget & allow





Did you know freedom exists in a school book

Did you know madmen are running our prison

w/in a jail, w/in a gaol

w/in a white free protestant maelstrom

We’re perched headlong on the edge of boredom

We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle

We’re trying for something

That’s already found us





Lament for my cock

Sore and crucified

I seek to know you.

Acquiring soulful wisdom,

You can open walls of mystery,



How to acquire death in the morning show.

TV death which the child absorbs

Deathwell mystery which makes me write

Slow train, the death of my cock gives life.


Forgive the poor old people who gave us entry

Taught us god in the child’s prayer in the night.


Guitar player,

Ancient wise satyr,

Sing your ode to my cock.


Caress its lament,

Stiffen and guide us, we frozen.

Lost cells,

The knowledge of cancer

To speak to the heart

And give the great gift:

Words   Power   Trance


This stable friend and the beasts of his zoo,

Wild haired chicks,

Women flowery in their summit,

Monsters of skin.

Each color connects

            To create the boat

                       Which rocks the race.

Could any hell be more horrible

                                  than now

                                            and real?

I pressed her thigh and death smiled.


Death, old friend,

Death and my cock are the world.

I can forgive my injuries in the name of

Wisdom   Luxury   Romance


Sentence upon sentence

Words are healing lament

For the death of my cock’s spirit

Has no meaning in the soft fire.

Words got me the wound and will get me well,

If you believe it.


All join now and lament for the death of my cock

A tongue of knowledge in the feathered night.

Boys get crazy in the head and suffer,

I sacrifice my cock on the altar of silence.




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Il contatore dei visitatori Shiny Stat è attivo da dicembre 2006