"Its four in the morning, the end of December.Im 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 that you planned to go clear.
Did you ever go clear?"
Lyrics: Leonard Cohan
Photo: Tony Stamolis
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