Morrison

He was lost and I don´t think
he wanted it that way
Like a gull blown inland
on a stormy day

Lost in round one
splitting out pieces of his teeth
Lost in a Paris graveyard
carrying his own wreath

And I have seen that movie
and it wasn´t like that
He was mad and lonely
and blind as a bat

To the bridge and the falling tree
Too deaf to hear his own song
You see

How does anyone get to there
We may never know
How they got that far
or what made them go

But he had flown from his homeland
You could see him there
A gull circling in the high desert air

And somehow I have to learn from this
´Cause I can hear him cry and feel the hiss
of the wind of his feathers
and the sun on his feet
As he dies in the desert
on that Paris street