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.