If I had seen your paradise,
I'd welcome rain come in again.
If you had to me entice.
Had I not born my soul, a drunk,
disguised as lust behind my cups,
my head'd lay softly on this bunk.
We should not us, dear dreamers,
think our words perfectly heard.
We are prone to fall awake.
As I am prone to cry by night,
when most clearly comes the light.