Sunday Morn (2005)

Poem By Patrick Wescott

Your soul looked out from blood-shot glass
your fears drunk away for but a time
Plead for mercy from your desires
their blackness drowns in oblivion.

Do you ever lose your demons,
or do they dance locked inside?
Until you awake on sunday morn
as life comes crashing back.

Hang your soul on the toilet
paste your truth to the floor
Your head pounds for freedom
and spins your fears off again

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