And now you look around you. See her everywhere. Many use her body. Many comb her hair. And in the hollow of the night when you are cold and numb, you hear her talking freely then. She’s happy that you’ve come. She’s happy that you’ve come.
BIRD ON THE WIRE
Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
Like a worm on a hook
Like a knight from some old-fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee
If I have been unkind
I hope that you can just let it go by
If I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you
Like a baby stillborn
Like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me
But I swear by this song
And by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch
He said to me “You must not ask for so much”
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door
She cried to me “Hey, why not ask for more”
Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
SONGS OF LOVE AND HATE
JOAN OF ARC
Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding through the dark,
no moon to keep her armour bright,
no man to get her through this smoky night
She said, “I’m tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before:
a wedding dress or something white
to wear upon my swollen appetite.”
“I’m glad to hear you talk this way
I’ve watched you riding every day,
and something in me yearns to win
such a cold and very lonesome heroine.”
“And who are you?” she sternly spoke,
to the one beneath the smoke.
“Why, I’m fire,” he replied,
“and I love your solitude, I love your pride.”
“Then fire make your body cold,
I’m going to give you mine to hold.”
And saying this she climbed inside
to be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.
It was deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and then she clearly understood
if he was fire, oh, then she was wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry
I saw the glory in her eye
Myself, I long for love and light,
but must it come so cruel, must it be so bright!
AVALANCHE
I stepped into an avalanche
it covered up my soul
When I am not this hunchback
I sleep beneath a golden hill
You who wish to conquer pain
you must learn to serve me well
You strike my side by accident
as you go down for gold
The cripple that you clothe and feed
is neither starved nor cold
He does not ask for company
not at the centre of the world
When I am on this pedestal
you did not raise me there
Your laws do not compel me
to kneel grotesque and bare
I myself am the pedestal
for this hump at which you stare
You who wish to conquer pain
you must learn what makes me kind
The crumbs of love that you offer me
are the crumbs I’ve left behind
Your cross is no credential here
it’s just the shadow of my wound
I have begun to long for you
I who have no need
I have begun to wait for you
I who have no greed
You say you’ve gone away from me
but I can feel you when you breathe
Do not dress in rags for me
I know you are not poor
And don’t love me quite so fiercely
when you know you are not sure
It is your world beloved
it is your flesh that I wear
DIAMONDS IN THE MINE
The woman in blue
she’s asking for revenge
The man in white (that’s you)
says he has no friends
The river is swollen up
with dirty rusty cans
and the trees are burning
in your promised land
And there are no letters
in the mailbox
there are no grapes
upon the vine
there are no chocolates
in your boxes any more
and there are no diamonds
in the mine
You tell me that your lover
has a broken limb
You say you’re restless now
and it’s on account of him
I saw the man in question
it was just the other night
He was eating up a lady
where the lions and Christians fight
And there are no letters
There is no comfort
in the covens of the witch
Some very clever doctor went
and sterilized the bitch
And the only man of energy
(the revolution’s pride)
showed a million women
how to kill an unborn child
And there are no letters
in the mailbox
there are no grapes
upon the vine
there are no chocolates
in your boxes any more
and there are no diamonds
in the mine
FAMOUS BLUE RAINCOAT
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 though the evening. I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert. You’re living for nothing now. I 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 the night that you planned to go clear. Did you ever go clear?
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 then you came home without Lili Marlene. And you treated my woman to a flake of your life. And when she came back she was nobody’s wife. 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 my brother my killer? What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you. I guess I forgive you. I’m glad that you
