I haven't locked the door, 
Nor lit the candles, 
You don't know, don't care, 
That tired I haven't the strength 
To decide to go to bed. 
Seeing the fields fade in 
The sunset murk of pine-needles, 
And to know all is lost, 

That life is a cursed hell: 
I've got drunk 
On your voice in the doorway. 
I was sure you'd come back.