Every means of communication what is call languages are mysteries
I am a foreigner in an insulated capsule
I taste. I explore. I take samples to try and break loneliness
I'm learning. Maybe, one day, I will be truely able to write and talk.

dimanche 21 juin 2009

The butcher (Leonard Cohen)

I came upon a butcher,
He was slaughtering a lamb,
I accused him there
With his tortured lamb.
He said, listen to me, child,
I am what I am and you, you are my only son.

Well, I found a silver needle,
I put it into my arm.
It did some good,
Did some harm.
But the nights were cold
And it almost kept me warm,
How come the night is long?

I saw some flowers growing up
Where that lamb fell down;
Was I supposed to praise my lord,
Make some kind of joyful sound?
He said, listen, listen to me now,
I go round and round
And you, you are my only child.

Do not leave me now,
Do not leave me now,
Im broken down
From a recent fall.
Blood upon my body
And ice upon my soul,
Lead on, my son, it is your world.

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