You never liked to get
|
The letters that I sent.
|
But now you’ve got the gist
|
Of what my letters meant.
|
You’re reading them again
|
The ones you didn’t burn.
|
You press them to your lips
|
My pages of concern.
|
I said there’d been a flood.
|
I said there’s nothing left.
|
I hoped that you would come.
|
I gave you my address.
|
Your story was so long
|
The plot was so intense
|
It took you years to cross
|
The lines of self-defense.
|
The wounded forms appear:
|
The loss the full extent;
|
And simple kindness here
|
The solitude of strength.
|
|
I said there’d been a flood.
|
I said there’s nothing left.
|
I hoped that you would come.
|
I gave you my address.
|
|
You walk into my room.
|
You stand there at my desk
|
Begin your letter to
|
The one who’s coming next.
|
Begin your letter to
|
The one who’s coming next.
|
|
You never liked to get
|
The letters that I sent.
|
But now you’ve got the gist
|
Of what my letters meant.
|
You’re reading them again
|
The ones you didn’t burn.
|
You press them to your lips
|
My pages of concern.
|
I said there’d been a flood.
|
I said there’s nothing left.
|
I hoped that you would come.
|
I gave you my address.
|
Your story was so long
|
The plot was so intense
|
It took you years to cross
|
The lines of self-defense.
|
The wounded forms appear:
|
The loss the full extent;
|
And simple kindness here
|
The solitude of strength.
|
|
-----------------
|
Letters
|
| Leonard Cohen |
