Blessed are you who, among the numberless swept away in terror, permitted a few to suffer carefully. - Leonard Cohen

The wretched beast is tame I don't need a lover So blow out the flame...

This is the only poem I can read. I am the only one who can write it. I didn’t kill myself when things went wrong. I didn’t turn to drugs or teaching. I tried to sleep. But when I couldn’t sleep, I learned to write. I learned to write what might be read on nights like this by one like me.

I wrote this next song a while ago to a great American singer who died several years ago. I used to bumb into her from time to time at hotel in New York where a lot of musicians used to come. A lot of those musicians are gone. They say the era is over. They say these are now the times of the conservative, the stable, the order. Perhaps that's true. She certainly stood for something that was beyond order and beyond chaos, beyond the radical and beyond the conservative, which is what every great singer embodies. Something that is not an argument, not a philosophy. Anyway, I wrote this song for her a long time ago.