(T. Beechey)

Dedicated to the life and legacy of James Douglas Morrison (1943-1971) on the thirty-fifth anniversary of his passing

Once more,the sun is setting even as it makes its climb

For the hands of fate are letting another slip through in their prime

We mustn't be forgetting or forgiving of such a crime

A chosen life's course heading abruptly ceased before its time

The stars,each one is fading; one by one they twinkle out

Over the land,there's shading as a spirit ascends the Route

To the Open Arms awaiting but,among us,there is doubt

As we're left anticipating what was yet to come about

Maybe there's a reason and perhaps someday I'll find it

Before I go out of season,gazing outward from behind it

Unable to communicate,merely watching from above

Never understanding the hate,never feeling any love

The angels,they are singing to the newest of their flock

Who,among them,now comes winging toward that Blessed Sainited Rock

And the chorus now is ringing through that Pearly Golden Block

Still,we feel that soulful stinging which accompanies the shock

Maybe there's a reason and perhaps someday I'll know

Before I go out of season,gazing beyond the brilliant glow

Unable to communicate,merely casting a watchful eye

Never understanding the hate and always wondering why

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