He is the last note that’s left to ring,
He is Leonard Cohen’s secret chord,
He is a guitar’s seventh string.
The words he wrote, the words he sings,
He will be missed, he was adored—
He is the last note that’s left to ring.
Music was his being, his everything,
A master of the fingerboard,
He is a guitar’s seventh string.
An uncrowned, gentle musical king,
Much missed and deeply adored,
He is the last note that’s left to ring.
The lyrics he wrote, the words he sings,
Faith in human nature he helped restore,
He is a guitar’s seventh string.
And now he has grown his angel wings,
He is performing for the Chairman of the Board.
He is the last note that’s left to ring,
He is a guitar’s seventh string.
A Second to Work
With a hand that ostensibly
Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently,
Yet really holds with force,
Holds with vim and plays with vigor
The strings stretch and impart their somber discordance,
Turns out Wagner tunes into self,
Turns on raw terror, awe and fear
Awe with sorrow intermingled, the soul knows the notes no words can effect,
They tap the ear— touch the soul,
And Oh,
To play second fiddle
And fiddle with time, as the tune pours out,
A cosmic symphony that Wagner knew and shared with you,
That Nietzsche wrote
That I know,
That to be second to
To know the seconds in time
Lost to frivolous pursuits
To know that we have all but toil,
And work cursed to toil
And labor eternal under a relentless desiccating sun
To know that love comes second,
to toil
is the saddest condition of man.
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