Grave Song

This poem is the poem I left for Jim Morrison at his grave. He is buried in Paris.



You were born on the 13th moon, child of darkness and acid and gloom.

Born from fragile tragic egg shell moon and hence you became inside your mothers womb.

And so you were trusted into the earth.

Now I stand amidst the Paris rain looking for your resting place.

Ah! I see you are guarded well.

Cigarettes unsmoked and full bottles of whiskey and vodka lay above to greet you.

We watch your patch of earth and beg for you to come back threw.

I stand as close as I can around the hungry crowd... the rest of us.

I long to lay my body next to you.

I weep for you. Why I do not know

Paris's soft rain falls down on us all; The Followers of the religion you made for us.

Oh mighty king! Come forth unto earth and give us more sins.

Come unto our useless place and grant us with your kiss.

Now I kneel down. And I watch lizards scurry at your tombstone.

I pray to you. I pray that you can hear us. I pray that you can feel my lips on your space of earth.

You were born on the 13th moon. you we're born a king.

I want to lay next to your corpse.

We chant.

We cry.

Yes, you were born on the 13th moon a king.

You were born a lizard king.