She almost woke me up one night, I don't remember why,
And in a half-hypnotic state, looked in one drunken eye
To tell me that she loved me, then kissed my forehead. Oh
It was my dream's reply, I swear: I simply didn't know.
God, if I'd been aware of any hint of any trap,
I would have snipped my careless tongue. Instead, I answered back
With semi-automatic, blindly obvious replies:
I curse myself for snoring while she plotted my demise.

If only I'd been sober, or I hadn't bloody slept.
Perhaps I'd have sustained the feeble promises I'd kept
Since she and he were almost one. I can't even confess,
For now I must conceal this too, pretending nothing less
Than blundering amnesia or just too much champagne.
The guilt I'm used to these days but I still fear further pain.
I'm sorry. I have said it - to my bitterest regret -
And worse than this, I fear that I may not have finished yet.