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 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

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night when you planned to go clear

Did you ever go clear?

The last time I 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
You came home without Lili Marlene

And you treated, my woman, to a flake, of your life
When she came back
She was nobody's wife

And 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

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 stood in my way

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Well your enemy is sleeping
And his woman is free, yes
And 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 you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

Sincerely, L. Cohen