The Doors- 'Mobile Crash Pad'

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Ode to the VW Bus

A chariot born of steel and dreams,
From Ferdinand’s mind, its legend beams.
A humble van, yet vast in scope,
A rolling temple of love and hope.

Surfboards strapped, horizons near,
Its rumbling hum, the sound of cheer.
Across the sands where oceans kiss,
Or mountain roads in morning mist.

The Flower Children made it home,
A canvas for peace, on wheels to roam.
Psychedelic swirls, daisies in bloom,
A mobile commune in a world of gloom.

The Doors packed theirs with amps and riffs,
Rolling through deserts, along coastal cliffs.
Jim’s voice, a howl against the wind,
Robby’s slide, where journeys begin.

From Panama’s heat to the Alpine cold,
The Bus stood firm, a tale retold.
A symbol of freedom, a wanderer’s friend,
From past to future, its ride won’t end.

Now rare as whispers in canyon skies,
Yet in the hearts of all, it never dies.
A cultural icon, beloved, robust,
Forever we ride in the VW Bus.