variations on “Famous Blue Raincoat”just_thethreeMay 28 2005, 08:33:12 UTC
it’s 4 in the morning the end of december I’m writing this 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 little house deep in the desert you’re living for nothing now: i hope you’re keeping some kind of record
I’ve been sitting for hours now playing a record leonard cohen, he speaks of late nights in december this city can feel like bone-drying desert I have high hopes that dylan will make that all better I promised myself I would turn in quite early, early this evening It’s taking this toll on me this always-waking-up style of living
I’ve spoken of my life, but what of your living? If it’s not going well, say it now, off the record So often we rise up, and run ‘round til evening And the days rush on by, count the years each december There must be a place in the world where they deal with that better I've heard deep in africa, they don’t keep time in the desert
An old man sat downtown and he spoke of this desert Where they’re so damn alive they don’t know that they’re living I handed him vittles. he murmured, “dough’s better I have shot up 6 today; 7’d be a record.” I went back and looked for him twice last december But I’m quite sure he's somewhere in africa this evening
Bend your ear this way; take some time from your evening I’ve good news for the rest of you stuck in the desert We’re sending a search party late next december And they’ll rescue your bones and pretend you’re still living And you’ll get a medal, a plaque and a spot on the record For we all know that will make up for it; makes it all better
I spoke of improvement; this verse could be better But I think it suffices for late friday evening I’ve written so fast that it must be a record But I wouldn’t get props for that in an african desert Well the heat made it nice today; good to be living Remember it when you’re walking through rain in december
And remember december ’64, times were better In their pink living rooms they played cards in the evening And they ate pink desserts and played sinatra records
it’s 4 in the morning the end of december
I’m writing this 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 little house deep in the desert
you’re living for nothing now: i hope you’re keeping some kind of record
I’ve been sitting for hours now playing a record
leonard cohen, he speaks of late nights in december
this city can feel like bone-drying desert
I have high hopes that dylan will make that all better
I promised myself I would turn in quite early, early this evening
It’s taking this toll on me this always-waking-up style of living
I’ve spoken of my life, but what of your living?
If it’s not going well, say it now, off the record
So often we rise up, and run ‘round til evening
And the days rush on by, count the years each december
There must be a place in the world where they deal with that better
I've heard deep in africa, they don’t keep time in the desert
An old man sat downtown and he spoke of this desert
Where they’re so damn alive they don’t know that they’re living
I handed him vittles. he murmured, “dough’s better
I have shot up 6 today; 7’d be a record.”
I went back and looked for him twice last december
But I’m quite sure he's somewhere in africa this evening
Bend your ear this way; take some time from your evening
I’ve good news for the rest of you stuck in the desert
We’re sending a search party late next december
And they’ll rescue your bones and pretend you’re still living
And you’ll get a medal, a plaque and a spot on the record
For we all know that will make up for it; makes it all better
I spoke of improvement; this verse could be better
But I think it suffices for late friday evening
I’ve written so fast that it must be a record
But I wouldn’t get props for that in an african desert
Well the heat made it nice today; good to be living
Remember it when you’re walking through rain in december
And remember december ’64, times were better
In their pink living rooms they played cards in the evening
And they ate pink desserts and played sinatra records
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