Leonard Cohen (Is Dead)

Now the Buddhists don't believe in the soul
 So we are to believe we are here at all
 Now it's cold in this house, and your ghost walks the hall
 Leonard Cohen is dead
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 Fly away bird and don't ever come back
 Leave all these songs in an old cotton sack
 Freedom's no longer a stone on your back
 And Leonard Cohen is dead
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 Maybe he'll come back a sparrow
 Singing life's sweet melody
 Maybe he'll come back a saint on the hill
 Maybe he comes back a thief
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 Scatter his ashes, off the cliffs of San Juan
 Scatter his bones, on our parliament's lawn
 Remember his words, the poet here and gone
 And Leonard Cohen is dead
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 Dance with the monks, O' Bryan
 Dance and don't come here at all
 There's a verse on the wind for the trouble we're in
 And Leonard Cohen is dead
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 Now the Buddhists don't believe we even exist
 But the Dharma never heard a song quite like this
 So one glance your hand from life's angry fist
 Leonard Cohen is dead