The Doors - The Soft Parade - Essential Rarities (2000)
(Recorded Live on PBS Television, New York, 1969)
LETRA EN ESPAÑOL EN LOS COMENTARIOS.
LYRICS ENGLISH:
When I was back there in seminary school,
there was a person there who put forth the proposition
that you can petition the lord with prayer.
Petition the lord with prayer, petition the lord with prayer.
You can not petition the lord with prayer!
Can you give me sanctuary?
I must find a place to hide,
a place for me to hide.
Can you find me soft asylum?
I can't make it anymore, the man is at the door.
Peppermint, miniskirts, chocolate, candy,
champion sax and a girl named Sandy.
There's only four ways to get unraveled:
one is to sleep and the other is travel,
one is a bandit up in the hills,
one is to love your neighbor 'till his wife gets home.
Catacombs, nursery bones, winter women,
growing stones, carrying babies to the river.
Streets and shoes, avenues, leather riders selling news.
The monk bought lunch.
Yes, he bought a little.
He it did.
All right.
This is the best part of the trip.
This is the part I really like, I relly like it, yeah.
All right.
Successful hills are here to stay.
Everything must be this way.
Gentle streets where people play.
Welcome to the soft parade.
All our lives we sweat and save
building for a shallow grave.
Must be something else we say,
somehow to defend this place.
Everything must be this way.
Everything must be this way, yeah.
The soft parade has now begun.
Listen to the engines hum.
People out to have some fun.
Cobra on my left, leopard on my right.
Deer woman in a silk dress,
girls with beads around their necks
kiss the hunter of the green vest.
Who has wrestled before with lions in the night?
Out of sight.
The lights are getting brighter,
the radio is moaning calling to the dogs.
There are still a few animals left out in the yard.
But it's getting harder to describe sailors to the underfed.
Tropic corridor, tropic treasure.
What got us this far to this mild equator?
We need someone or something new,
something else to get us through.
Yeah, c'mon.
You gotta meet me at the crossroads.
You gotta meet me at the edge of town.
Outskirts of the city.
Better come alone. You and I, and the evening sky.
Better come alone.
Better bring your gun, babe.
Callin' on the dogs.
Callin' on the dogs.
Callin' on the gods.
Callin' in the gods.
When all else fails we can whip the horse's eyes
and make them sleep and cry.
