Avalanche

I stepped into an avalanche

it covered up my soul

When I am not this hunchback (that you see)

I sleep beneath the golden hill

You who wish to conquer pain

you must learn, learn to serve me well

You strike my side by accident

as you go down for your gold

The cripple here that you clothe and feed

is neither starved nor cold

He does not ask for your company

not at the centre, the centre of the world

When I am on a pedestal

you did not raise me there

Your laws do not compel me

to kneel grotesque and bare

I myself am the pedestal

for this ugly hump at which you stare

You who wish to conquer pain

you must learn what makes me kind

The crumbs of love that you offer me

they’re the crumbs I’ve left behind

Your pain is no credential here

it’s just the shadow, shadow of my wound

I have begun to long for you

I who have no greed

I have begun to ask for you

I who have no need

You say you’ve gone away from me

but I can feel you when you breathe

Do not dress in those rags for me

I know you are not poor

You don’t love me quite so fiercely now

when you know that you are not sure

It is your turn beloved

it is your flesh that I wear

Last Year’s Man

The rain falls down on last year’s man,

that’s a jew’s harp on the table,

that’s a crayon in his hand.

And the corners of the blueprint are ruined since they rolled

far past the stems of thumbtacks

that still throw shadows on the wood.

And the skylight is like skin for a drum I’ll never mend

and all the rain falls down amen

on the works of last year’s man.

I met a lady, she was playing with her soldiers in the dark

oh one by one she had to tell them

that her name was Joan of Arc.

I was in that army, yes I stayed a little while;

I want to thank you, Joan of Arc,

for treating me so well.

And though I wear a uniform I was not born to fight;

all these wounded boys you lie beside,

goodnight, my friends, goodnight.

I came upon a wedding that old families had contrived;

Bethlehem the bridegroom,

Babylon the bride.

Great Babylon was naked, oh she stood there trembling for me,

and Bethlehem inflamed us both

like the shy one at some orgy.

And when we fell together all our flesh was like a veil

that I had to draw aside to see

the serpent eat its tail.

Some women wait for Jesus, and some women wait for Cain

so I hang upon my altar

and I hoist my axe again.

And I take the one who finds me back to where it all began

when Jesus was the honeymoon

and Cain was just the man.

And we read from pleasant Bibles that are bound in blood and skin

that the wilderness is gathering

all its children back again.

The rain falls down on last year’s man,

an hour has gone by

and he has not moved his hand.

But everything will happen if he only gives the word;

the lovers will rise up

and the mountains touch the ground.

But the skylight is like skin for a drum I’ll never mend

and all the rain falls down amen

on the works of last year’s man.

Dress Rehearsal Rag

Four o’clock in the afternoon

and I didn’t feel like very much.

I said to myself, “Where are you golden boy,

where is your famous golden touch?”

I thought you knew where

all of the elephants lie down,

I thought you were the crown prince

of all the wheels in Ivory Town.

Just take a look at your body now,

there’s nothing much to save

and a bitter voice in the mirror cries,

“Hey, Prince, you need a shave.”

Now if you can manage to get

your trembling fingers to behave,

why don’t you try unwrapping

a stainless steel razor blade?

That’s right, it’s come to this,

yes it’s come to this,

and wasn’t it a long way down,

wasn’t it a strange way down?

There’s no hot water
and the cold is running thin.

Well, what do you expect from

the kind of places you’ve been living in?

Don’t drink from that cup,

it’s all caked and cracked along the rim.

That’s not the electric light, my friend,

that is your vision growing dim.

Cover up your face with soap, there,

now you’re Santa Claus.

And you’ve got a gift for anyone

who will give you his applause.

I thought you were a racing man,

ah, but you couldn’t take the pace.

That’s a funeral in the mirror

and it’s stopping at your face.

That’s right, it’s come to this,

yes it’s come to this,

and wasn’t it a long way down,

ah wasn’t it a strange way down?

Once there was a path

and a girl with chestnut hair,

and you passed the summers

picking all of the berries that grew there;

there were times she was a woman,

oh, there were times she was just a child,

and you held her in the shadows

where the raspberries grow wild.

And you climbed the twilight mountains

and you sang about the view,

and everywhere that you wandered

love seemed to go along with you.

That’s a hard one to remember,

yes it makes you clench your fist.

And then the veins stand out like highways,

all along your wrist.

And yes it’s come to this,

it’s come to this,

and wasn’t it a long way down,

wasn’t it a strange way down?

You can still find a job,

go out and talk to a friend.

On the back of every magazine

there are those coupons you can send.

Why don’t you join the Rosicrucians,

they will give you back your hope,

you can find your love with diagrams

on a plain brown envelope.

But you’ve used up all your coupons

except the one that seems

to be written on your wrist

along with several thousand dreams.

Now Santa Claus comes forward,

that’s a razor in his mit;

and he puts on his dark glasses

and he shows you where to hit;

and then the cameras pan,

the stand in stunt man,

dress rehearsal rag,

it’s just the dress rehearsal rag,

you know this dress rehearsal rag,

it’s just a dress rehearsal rag.

Diamonds in the Mine

The woman in blue

she’s asking for revenge

The man in white (that’s you)

says he has no friends

The river is swollen up

with (dirty) rusty cans

and the trees are burning

in your promised land

And there are no letters

in the mailbox

and there are no grapes

upon the vine

(and) there are no chocolates

in the boxes any more

and there are no diamonds

in the mine

(Well) You tell me that your lover

has a broken limb

You say you’re kind of restless now

and it’s on account of him

(Well) I saw the man in question

it was just the other night

He was eating up a lady

where the lions and Christians fight

And there are no letters

in the mailbox

and there are no grapes

upon the vine

(and) there are no chocolates

in the boxes any more

and there are no diamonds

in the mine

(You tell them now)

and there are no diamonds

in the mine 

(Ah) There is no comfort

in the covens of the witch

Some very clever doctor went

and sterilized the bitch

And the only man of energy

(yes, the revolution’s pride)

he trained a hundred women

just to kill an unborn child

And there are no letters

in the mailbox

oh no, there are no, no grapes

upon your vine

and there are, there are no chocolates

in your boxes anymore

and there are no diamonds

in your mine

And there are no letters

in the mailbox

and there are no grapes

upon the vine

and there are no chocolates

in your boxes anymore

and there are no diamonds

in your mine

and there are no diamonds

in your mine

(That’s all I got to say)

Love Calls You By Your Name

You thought that it could never happen

to all the people that you became,

your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame.

But here, right here,

between the birthmark and the stain,

between the ocean and your open vein,

between the snowman and the rain,
once again, once again,

love calls you by your name.

The women in your scrapbook

whom you still praise and blame,

you say they chained you to your fingernails

and you climb the halls of fame.
Oh but here, right here,

between the peanuts and the cage,

between the darkness and the stage,

between the hour and the age,
once again, once again,

love calls you by your name.

Shouldering your loneliness

like a gun that you will not learn to aim,

you stumble into this movie house,

then you climb, you climb into the frame.

Yes, and here, right here

between the moonlight and the lane,

between the tunnel and the train,

between the victim and his stain,

once again, once again,

love calls you by your name.

I leave the lady meditating

on the very love which I, I do not wish to claim,

I journey down the hundred steps,

but the street is still the very same.

And here, right here,

between the dancer and his cane,

between the sailboat and the drain,

between the newsreel and your tiny pain,

once again, once again,

love calls you by your name.

Where are you, Judy, where are you, Anne?

Where are the paths your heroes came?

Wondering out loud as the bandage pulls away,

was I, was I only limping, was I really lame?

Oh here, come over here,

between the windmill and the grain,

between the sundial and the chain,

between the traitor and her pain,

once again, once again,

love calls you by your name.

Famous Blue Raincoat

It’s four in the morning, the end of December. I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better. New York is cold but I like where I’m living. There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening. I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert. You’re living for nothing now. I hope you’re keeping some kind of record. Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair. She said that you gave it to her that night that you planned to go clear. Did you ever go clear?

(Ah) The last time we saw you you looked so much older. Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder. You’d been to the station to meet every train but (then) you came home without Lili Marlene. And you treated my woman to a flake of your life. And when she came back she was nobody’s wife. (Well) I see you there with the rose in your teeth, one more thin gypsy thief. Well, I see Jane’s awake. She sends her regards.

And what can I tell you my brother my killer? What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you. I guess I forgive you. I’m glad (that) you stood in my way. If you ever come by here for Jane or for me, well, your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free. Yes, and thanks for the trouble you took from her eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried. 

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair. She said that you gave it to her that night that you planned to go clear.

Sincerely, L. Cohen.

Sing Another Song, Boys

(Let’s sing another song, boys, this one has grown old and bitter.)

Ah his fingernails, I see they’re broken,

his ships they’re all on fire.

The moneylender’s lovely little daughter

ah, she’s eaten, she’s eaten with desire.

She spies him through the glasses

from the pawnshops of her wicked father.

She hails him with a microphone

that some poor singer, just like me, had to leave her.

She tempts him with a clarinet,

she waves a Nazi dagger.

She finds him lying in a heap;

she wants to be his woman.

He says, “Yes, I just might go to sleep

but kindly leave, leave the future, leave it open.”

He stands where it is steep,

oh I guess he thinks that he’s the very first one,

his hand upon his leather belt now

like it was the wheel of some big ocean liner.

And she will learn to touch herself so well

as all the sails burn down like paper.

And he has lit the chain

of his famous cigarillo.

Ah, they’ll never, they’ll never ever reach the moon,

at least not the one that we’re after;

it’s floating broken on the open sea (look out there, my friends)

and it carries no survivors.

But lets leave these lovers wondering

why they cannot have each other,

and let’s sing another song, boys,

this one has grown old and bitter.

Joan Of Arc

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc

as she came riding through the dark,

no moon to keep her armour bright,

no man to get her through this very smoky night.

She said, “I’m tired of the war,

I want the kind of work I had before:

a wedding dress or something white

to wear upon my swollen appetite.”

La la la la la...

“(Well) I’m glad to hear you talk this way

(you know) I’ve watched you riding every day,

and something in me yearns to win

such a cold and lonesome heroine.”

“And who are you?” she sternly spoke,

to the one beneath the smoke.

“Why, I’m fire,” he replied,

“and I love your solitude, I love your pride.”

La la la la la...

“Then fire, make your body cold,

I’m going to give you mine to hold.”

(And) saying this she climbed inside

to be his one, to be his only bride.

And deep into his fiery heart

he took the dust of Joan of Arc,

and high above the wedding guests

he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.

La la la la la...

It was deep into his fiery heart

he took the dust of Joan of Arc,

and then she clearly understood

if he was fire, oh, then she must be wood.

I saw her wince, I saw her cry,

I saw the glory in her eye

Myself, I long for love and light,

but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright!

La la la la la...

(c) 1971 Leonard Cohen and Sony/ATV Music Publishing Canada Company

Courtesy of Menart, an exclusive Sony dealer for Croatia
Reprinted here with written permission