Join the new world

Dipping again into the deep well of my favorite Canadian songwriter this week -- Leonard Cohen -- for a lyrics that seemed to capture my mood. To go along with it, here's an eclectic collection of modern artwork from the northernmost first nations of the Americas.







Ah we're drinking and we're dancing and the band is really happening and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high and my very sweet companion, she's the angel of compassion. She's rubbing half the world against her thigh and every drinker every dancer lifts a happy face to thank her. The fiddler fiddles something so sublime
all the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka-dots and it's partner found, it's partner lost and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops.

It's closing time.






Ah we're lonely, we're romantic and the cider's laced with acid and the holy spirit's crying, where's the beef? And the moon is swimming naked and the summer night is fragrant with a mighty expectation of relief. So we struggle and we stagger down the snakes and up the ladder to the tower where the blessed hours chime. And I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss; the gates of love they budged an inch.

I can't say much has happened since but closing time.
We're closing time.







I loved you for your beauty but that doesn't make a fool of me you were in it for your beauty too and I loved you for your body. There's a voice that sounds like god to me declaring that your body's really you. And I loved you when our love was blessed and I love you now there's nothing left but sorrow and a sense of overtime and I missed you since the place got wrecked and I just don't care what happens next.

Looks like freedom but it feels like death. It's something in between, I guess.

It's closing time.








Yeah I missed you since the place got wrecked by the winds of change and the weeds of sex. Looks like freedom but it feels like death. It's something in between, I guess.

It's closing time








Yeah we're drinking and we're dancing but there's nothing really happening and the place is dead as heaven on a Saturday night and my very close companion gets me fumbling gets me laughing. She's a hundred but she's wearing something tight and I lift my glass to the awful truth which you can't reveal to the ears of youth except to say it isn't worth a dime and the whole damn place goes crazy twice and it's once for the devil and once for Christ but the boss don't like these dizzy heights.

We're busted in the blinding lights of closing time.








Oh the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka-dots.

It's closing time.







And it's partner found, it's partner lost and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops.

It's closing time.







I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss.

It's closing time.





The gates of love they budged an inch.

I can't say much has happened since but closing time.

I loved you when our love was blessed.

I love you now there's nothing left but closing time