Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was born..no, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ pkmorrison.livejournal.com and www.myspace.com/hermajestythelizardqueen)

Friday, June 30, 2006

In More Than Memory

JAMES DOUGLAS MORRISON

8 December 1943 – 3 July 1971

artist poet singer
beloved husband of Patricia




For you, a song…turnabout is fair play.




Dark Angel


If my hand can reach out to touch you
If my song can fall on distant ears
If love can send itself to find you
This trip would never be ending in tears

Something that we never expected
Something that came as no surprise
Hand on our shoulder hard out of nowhere
Closing our dreaming, opening our eyes

We only had you while we had you
Should have understood you could never be owned
You were just here on a one-day passport
We never guessed you were only on loan

None of us ever thought you could leave us
We watched you bank your magical hours
Coining your blood to buy time on installment
We should have known you could never be ours

You weren’t meant for long-term duty
Just dropping in for the graveyard shift
Wasn’t gonna be any gold-watch party
Your time was the present, but you were the gift

We only had you while we had you
Should have realized you could never be owned
You were just here on a working visa
We should have seen you were only a loan

Never found yourself a place to shelter
Stayed with us when you needed a friend
Hardly even got to unpack your baggage
None of us dreamed there was so much to mend

Who could have thought you’d run the table
That’s just the way your loaded dice were thrown
Got off the bus for a quickie gamble
Back on board, destination unknown

We only had you while we had you
Didn’t understand you could never be owned
You were just here on a one-way ticket
Even in our arms you were always alone

We only had you while we had you
Nobody saw you get sliced to the bone
Nobody heard you bleed out silent
Nobody noticed you leaving alone

We only had you while we had you
Couldn’t accept you weren’t meant to be owned
You were just here on a one-way ticket
Even in our arms you were always alone

We only had you while we had you
That’s just the way those fated dice were thrown…


[hook out to fade]




—Patricia Morrison
written for Jim Morrison…and others…




©2005, Patricia Morrison for Lizard Queen Music





This is one of about thirty songs I’ve written over the past year or so, meant to be the fictional output of my fictional English guitar-hero protagonist, Turk, in the new mystery series…it seemed appropriate to publicly debut it on this day.

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