Oh Mann, kann es jetzt mal langsam gut sein? Jetzt ist auch noch Leonard Cohen gestorben. Mit neueren Songs von ihm tat ich mich immer schwer (vielleicht ändert sich das jetzt), aber die Songs aus 'Various Positions' und 'I'm your Man' wie etliche Songs aus früheren Alben sind mir so präsent und nahe, dass ich sie mir kaum noch anzuhören brauche. Der Gedanke, dass es den lebenden Sänger und Dichter dahinter nicht mehr gibt, tut so weh.

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Steven Brust trifft es mal wieder am besten.
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Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where Death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost.
Ay Ay Ay Ay
Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

I want you. I want you. I want you
on a chair with a dead magazine.
In the cave at the tip of the lily,
in some hallway where love's never been.
On a bed where the moon has been sweating,
in a cry filled with footsteps and sand.
Ay Ay Ay Ay
Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz. Take its broken waist in your hand.

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, with its very own breath of brandy and Death, dragging its tail in the sea.

There's a concert hall in Vienna where your mouth had a thousand reviews.
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking.
They've been sentenced to death by the blues.
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
with a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay Ay Ay Ay
Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz, it's been dying for years.

There's an attic where children are playing,
where I've got to lie down with you soon,
in a dream of Hungarian lanterns,
in the mist of some sweet afternoon.
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow
all your sheep and your lilies of snow.
Ay Ay Ay Ay
Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz with its:
'I'll never forget you, you know'

And I'll dance with you in Vienna.
I'll be wearing a river disguise.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
my mouth on the dew of your thighs.
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty
my cheap violin and my cross.
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
to the pools that you lift on your wrist.
Oh my Love. Oh my Love.
Take this Waltz. Take this Waltz.
It's yours now. It's all that there is.
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(Leonard Cohen, Take this Waltz, aus: I'm your Man, 1988)
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Rest in peace, Leonard Cohen. I'll never forget you.
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