Sweet romantic raindrops held out their hands
For my memories and heart splashes.
But I’ve already paid for the month,
I brought my warm sweater;
I’ve come for the show.
Two ladies danced into the night,
Slow waltzes around and around
As I sketched out the scene with dirty charcoal.
Hands in the air and sing out the song,
Pale spotlight in a smokey saloon.
Leonard Cohen wasn’t a poet
He sung long lines of Paris
In melodic sarcasm
That was rather
Fitting for the time;
Parisian hipsters and
Too much coffee.
Leonard Cohen had a voice
That carried well over
Acoustic sounding
Folk music to the droll
Of caffeinated serious chatter;
Long lines and small chat,
And pointy boots that
Make you look.
Leonard Cohen was a mime,
Abused and used and paid well.
He lent his name to fashion,
He ran well with fine wine.
He used a painted brush
And was often confused with Dylan.
The devil’s charged me twice now
For everything I’ve got
I never thought
This was absurd
For I’ve truly got a lot
I’ve never felt more luckier
For the family I have
The friends that do roam
When I’m off in search
But most of all
My own thoughts
They make me free
The devil’s charged me twice now
For everything I’ve got