It’s five o’clock. I lie awake in bed
And lay out in the dark my clever maps
That lead me to your door, and think perhaps
Today should be the day you hurt instead.
I polish up the weapons in my head -
Make sure they’re sharp, examine all my traps:
And dream of how your life could soon collapse
And everything you love be left for dead.
As daylight comes, the images disperse
(I am a weathercock that spins about)
But every night they keep on getting worse:
Oh, it’ll come to nothing, I’ve no doubt -
Except I’ve noticed this: with you as nurse
Dreams often have a way of working out.
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