I was a rotter and a scoundrel,
An accomplished idiot and a fool,
To choose the pleasures of fresh flesh,
And to be untrue to you.
Of course it was always in my nature,
To treat you, my lover thus,
For no matter how I craved for you,
On the back burner I put ‘us.’
The whores of Stuttgarter Platz,
The young fillies of the Pigalle,
Be it in Berlin or in Gay Paree,
Fed my addiction for any girl,
Who danced the dance of lust for me,
And to meet my rakish need,
For sublime erotic pleasures,
To assuage my ceaseless greed.
I gambled away our fortune,
In Monte Carlo and Deauville,
And I remain painfully aware,
That my actions left you ill.
So now I feel the time is right,
To fall on my own sword,
Do tell the kids I loved them,
And remember you were adored.