(L. Cohen)



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 house deep in the desert

Are you living for nothing now, 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 when 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 she never turned up I'm Lili Marlene



And you treated some woman to a flake of your life

And when she got home she was nobody's wife.

Well I see you there with a 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 oh what can I tell you

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.



And if you ever come by here, be it for Jane or for me

I want you to know your enemy's sleeping, I want you to know your woman is free.



Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes

I thought it was there for good so I never really tried.



And Jane came by with a lock of your hair

She said that you gave it to her

That night when you planned to go clear



Sincerely, a friend