Jeanette
There are some nights I dream of things I wish I could forget,
That hopeless look of sorrow on the face of poor Jeanette
When we fell to arguing about theology
And darkness hid her tears away but let my laughter free.
I cared too little, knew too much, and she the other was:
And had I known the consequence I would have spared her God,
But though I've slayed immortals I am not omniscient,
So I showed her our separate ways and separately we went,
Myself into my darker world, and her into my dreams,
And now I only see her in those warped nocturnal scenes.
Of all the lessons I have learnt I learn the worst those nights:
That sometimes you can lose a war by winning the wrong fights.