Wow! I'm sick of doubt

Live in the light of certain South

Cruel bindings

The servants have the power

Dog, men and their mean women

Pulling poor blankets over our sailors

I'm sick of dour faces

Staring at me from the T.V. tower

I want roses in my garden bower, dig

Royal babies, rubies must now replace

Aborted strangers in the mud

These mutants, blood-meal

For the plant that's plowed

They are waiting to take us into

The severed garden

Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful

Comes death on a strange hour

Unannounced, unplanned for

Like a scaring over-friendly guest

You've brought to bed

Death makes angels of us all

And gives us wings

Where we had shoulders

Smooth as raven's claws

No more money, no more fancy dress

This other kingdom seems by far the best

Until it's other jaw reveals incest

And loose obedience to a vegetable law

I will not go

Prefer a feast of friends

To the giant family

Jim Morrison

(1943-1971)

Cor

               Não hei-de morrer sem saber

               qual a cor da liberdade.

               Eu não posso senão ser

               desta terra em que nasci.

               Embora ao mundo pertença

               e sempre a verdade vença,

               qual será ser livre aqui,

               não hei-de morrer sem saber.

               Trocaram tudo em maldade,

               é quase um crime viver.

               Mas, embora escondam tudo

               e me queiram cego e mudo,

               não hei-de morrer sem saber

               qual a cor da liberdade.

Jorge de Sena   

(1919-1978)