Patrick Wescott

Give to me one more kiss.
Impart your spirit on my memory.
Chill my heart with a touch.
Ignite me with a glance.
...

(For Jim Morrison)

The Indian's soul embrassed you,
on that lost desert highway.
...

Once again I've returned,
here I sit watching ghosts.
In the house of the haunted
where I buried the past.
...

You've turned my world around,
you came without warning.
You've trashed all my views,
flipped my realm on its head.
...

Tie me down and set me free.
Peer into me and make me sting.
Flay my flesh, release my soul.
Make me cry, make me bleed.
...

May I come and walk your shores,
would you take me in?
Show me around and
climb the mountains with me?
...

I've walked the streets of London.
Set sail for the shores of France.
Found tequila
on the beaches of mexico.
...

I tell lies to please you,
hiding all but my face.
I give you what you want,
even as it causes pain.
...

I'm locked in a cell
and the key is around my neck.
For this is a prison
of my own design.
...

Where have I been?
Where am I going?
What pushed me in this direction?
Who's hands molded me?
...

You pulled my strings
and made me move.
Your playful eyes
danced over my skin.
...

I am locked in a battle,
and my soul is at stake.
Every waking moment
is a constant struggle.
...

The fog descends like a shroud to envelop me,
Like the clouds in my mind which make me blind.
Drifting, swirling, floating, twirling it is relentless.
And its appearance brings a feeling of uncertain.
...

We sat in a lounge headed south,
just travelers on the silver line.
We drank and smoked
to music and stories.
...

The desperate ones are out tonight,
and the monsters hunt for lack of thought.
The tribes are all gathered,
on the same strip of road,
...

The garden of eden,
is now the house of Cain.
And the check on our savior,
has produceed some evil deeds.
...

Like a match lit in a dark room,
she appeared in my life.
Opening a part of my soul
which now is in control.
...

Do you understand what you hear?
Can you afford to see the truth?
Look past your preconceptions,
forget the stories told from a thousand lips.
...

He appears disguised as the rest,
but his disguise is the best.
Only a few will know his name,
the rest just call him Mr. Insane.
...

There are those of you who know,
and those of you who wonder.
Trust me!
For I know not what I do.
...