I wanna tell you about Texas radio and the big beat:
It comes out the Virginia swamps, cool and slow
with a beackbeat narrow and hard to master.
Some call it heavenly in its brilliance
others mean and rueful of the Western dream.
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft.
We constructed pyramids in honour of our escaping.
For this is the land where the pharao dies
Children,
the river contains specimens.
The voices of singing women call us on the far shore,
And they are saying:
“Forget the night. Live with us in forests of azure.”
Meager food for souls forgot.
I tell you this ---
No etarnal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.

And one morning you awoke,
and the strange sun
and opening your door ---

(Bill Morrisson, The Doors)