A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes
|
were smoking out along the open road;
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the night was very dark and thick between them,
|
each man beneath his ordinary load.
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"I'd like to tell my story,"
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said one of them so young and bold,
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"I'd like to tell my story,
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before I turn into gold."
|
|
But no one really could hear him,
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the night so dark and thick and green;
|
well I guess that these heroes must always live there
|
where you and I have only been.
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Put out your cigarette, my love,
|
you've been alone too long;
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and some of us are very hungry now
|
to hear what it is you've done that was so wrong.
|
|
I sing this for the crickets,
|
I sing this for the army,
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I sing this for your children
|
and for all who do not need me.
|
"I'd like to tell my story,"
|
said one of them so bold,
|
"Oh yes, I'd like to tell my story
|
'cause you know I feel I'm turning into gold."
|
|
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|
A BUNCH OF LONESOME HEROS
|
| Leonard Cohen |
