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To Jim Morrison
BLOOM OF THE CREATION
The words that are after a battle against the society lost in a labyrinth of lies are empty
The words that look for to be left the lost road and to enter to one, new full with the bloom of the creation, will never be empty and they will spread in verses to the ordinary men
The magic powders of Scotland breathed the air of Florida and in Melbourne they had a son that died in Paris
The son from America didn't have blood it is his veins the one had words and music for people strange
To four years old begins his new destiny,
Not looking for, he found the dead Indians, suddenly
"The death of poor Indians bleeding in the highway"
Experience, death, blood, fear
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The doors of UCLA are open to the son from America, he is alive and he needs food of words and music
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The son from America is eating, eating: Nietzsche, Rimbaud, Kerouac and Ginsberg
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ROCK & ROLL FAN