Wednesday Morning, 3 a.m.

I can hear the soft breathing

Of the girl that I love,

As she lies here beside me

Asleep with the night,

And her hair, in a fine mist

Floats on my pillow,

Reflecting the glow

Of the winter moonlight.

She is soft, she is warm,

But my heart remains heavy,

And I watch as her breasts

Gently rise, gently fall,

For I know with the first light of dawn

I'll be leaving,

And tonight will be

All I have left to recall.



Oh, what have I done,

Why have I done it,

I've committed a crime,

I've broken the law.

For twenty-five dollars

And pieces of silver,

I held up and robbed

A hard liquor store.



My life seems unreal,

My crime an illusion,

A scene badly written

In which I must play.

Yet I know as I gaze

At my young love beside me,

The morning is just a few hours away.


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