It's four the morning

the end of December

I'm writing you now, 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, though

I hope you're keeping some kind of record, yes.

Jane came by with a lock of your hair

she said that you gave it to her

on the night that you planned to go clear

Did you ever go clear?

Last time I saw you

you looked so much older

your famous blue raincoat

was torn at the shoulder

I went to the station

to meet every train

but you came home alone without Lily Marlen

You treated my woman to a flake of your life

and when she came back

she was nobody's wife, well

I see you there with a rose in your teeth

jut one more thin gypsy thief

I see Jane's awake

She sends her regards.

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 you stood in my way

If you ever come by here

for Jane or for me

Well, your enemy is sleeping now

and his woman is free, well

Thanks for the trouble you took from her eyes

I thought it was there

for good

so I never tried

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair

She said that she gave it to her

on the night that you planned to go clear

Sincerely, L. Cohen