Leonard Cohen Follow

The stories of the street are mineThe Spanish voices laughThe Cadillacs go creeping downThrough the night and the poison gasI lean from mu window sillIn this old hotel I chose.Yes, one hand on my suicideAnd one hand on the rose.I know you've heard it's over nowAnd war must surely come,The cities they are broke in halfAnd the middle men are gone.But let me ask you one more timeO children of the dust,These hunters who are shrieking nowDo they speak for us?And where do all these highways goNow that we are free?Why are the armies marching stillThat were coming home to me?O lady with your legs so fineO stranger at your wheelYou are locked into your sufferingAnd your pleasures are the seal.The age of lust is giving birthBut both the parents ask the nurseTo tell them fairy tales on both sides of the glassNow the infant with his cordis hauled in like a kiteAnd one eye filled with blueprintsOne eye filled with nightO come with me my little oneAnd we will find that farmAnd grow us grass and apples thereTo keep all the animals warmAnd if by chance I wake at nightAnd I ask you who I amO take me to the slaughter houseI will wait there with the lamb.With one hand on a hexagramAnd one hand on a girlI balance on a wishing wellThat all men call the worldWe are so small between the starsSo large against the skyAnd lost among the subway crowdsI try to catch your eye.