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.
|
|
-----------------
|
Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.
|
| Simon and Garfunkel |
