The Doors Newborn Awakening

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
Fantastic 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
Annoying 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.