Songs Of Hate And Love lyrics

Well I stepped into an avalanche,
it covered up my soul;
when I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn, learn to serve me well.
You strike my side by accident
as you go down for your gold.
The cripple here that you clothe and feed
is neither starved nor cold;
he does not ask for your company,

The woman in blue, she's asking for revenge,
Man in white -that's you- says he has no friends.
The river is swollen up with rusty cans
And the trees are burning in your promised land.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.

Four o'clock in the afternoon
and I didn't feel like very much.
I said to myself, "Where are you golden boy,
where is your famous golden touch?"
I thought you knew where
all of the elephants lie down,
I thought you were the crown prince
of all the wheels in Ivory Town.
Just take a look at your body now,
there's nothing much to save
and a bitter voice in the mirror cries,

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

The rain falls down on last year's man,
That's a jew's harp on the table,
That's a crayon in his hand.
And the corners of the blueprint
Are ruined since they rolled
Far past the stems of thumbtacks
That still throw shadows on the wood.
And the skylight is like skin
For a drum I'll never mend
And all the rain falls down amen
On the works of last year's man.

I met a lady, she was playing

You thought that it could never happen
to all the people that you became,
your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame.
But here, right here,
between the birthmark and the stain,
between the ocean and your open vein,
between the snowman and the rain,
once again, once again,
love calls you by your name.

The women in your scrapbook
whom you still praise and blame,

Ah his fingernails, I see they're broken,
his ships they're all on fire.
The moneylender's lovely little daughter
ah, she's eaten, she's eaten with desire.
She spies him through the glasses
from the pawnshops of her wicked father.
She hails him with a microphone
that some poor singer, just like me, had to leave her.
She tempts him with a clarinet,
she waves a Nazi dagger.