Leonard Cohen at his best is one of the greatest songwriters of all time. This song, Hallelujah, Tower of Song, Chelsea Hotel, and a couple others, are some of the best songs ever written. "And should rumour of a shabby ending reach you, it was half my fault and half the atmosphere"
Just like a gun your memory is pressing on the back of my tongue. Just like a loaded weapon.
Under your possession. You little pills are blessings. Under your possession. You little pills are blessings.
Don’t try to run from the things that they do. You can hide from everyone, but turn around they’ve caught you.
Under your possession. You little pills are blessings. Under your possession. You little pills are blessings.
I could never stand to turn my back on you, relationships are built on trust. Picking off the berries that have asked for you to lighten up your crush.
Drops in the sun. There’s nothing that will last you. When life is all done just leave me a last few.
Under your possession. You little pills are blessings. Under your possession. You little pills are blessings.
What wraught the house that dreamed of you. And stood in the night like a frame that had lost a jewel. But one soul was kept to hold on to and walk forever in its halls and empty rooms. Always I will be the house you haunt. Always I will be the house you haunt.
Recalled to life through faded rooms. The wasted and gone are shown by the light and move. Who loved them best and let them go to rest in peace have found a home. Forget, but the walls will know.
Always I will be the house you haunt. Always I will be the house you haunt.
Beneath the stars we made a tomb. Awake in the night and see scrawled across the room. "This world of ours is not for you" They hold who's left alive who raise their home on the souls they lose.
Always I will be the house you haunt. Always I will be the house you haunt
This is a Stones song from the sixties. I like their original recording because it's so sloppy it's like they don't even care. The song is so fucking stupid that it's charming to me.
The stars are in the sky. The words are in my heart. I could let them out but I don’t know if I could get them back. And life is short and hard. Shots in every bar. You take the tips the you pay the debts to push them off but they don’t come off.
Hey Kate, I’m out on my own here, I’m standing alone here. Hey Kate, don’t stand on your own babe, don’t stand all alone baby.
When the wishing stops and the hands arive, it’s a long drop and I can’t fly and I can’t fly. There’s less and less I want. The list is getting small. I can’t make it stop it’s been to long it’s gone to far.
Hey Kate, I’m out on my own here, I’m standing alone here. Hey Kate, don’t stand on your own babe, don’t stand all alone baby.
And if we can’t go back. And this is how it ends. Here in this bar, I’m gonna try hard to remember for always the touch of your skin.
Hey Kate, I’m out on my own here, I’m standing alone here. Hey Kate, don’t stand on your own baby, don’t stand all alone baby.
I was in a basement when I came up with this song. I was talking to this kid who was in a band and I asked him if he was planning on going back to school. He said that he wanted to make it in the music buisness and that "there is no plan B". This was a couple years ago, maybe he's given up by now or maybe he's still trying. Either way it was clear that he meant it at the time. A statement of devotion to the love you can't help but choose. The question is how much you're willing to sacrifice to what it is you are. Somethings you can change and somethings you can't - Alcholholics Anonymous.
Like a fever while it's thick on the vine. Once it's picked the juice is pouring like wine. The soul's one record plays, "No Cause Like Mine". The walls and shutters shake. The boy is tied.
What could I do but cut down the cherry tree. There is no plan B.
Listen close and you can make out the whine of the signal from the stars to the spine. Born and a toll to pay. One name to sign. Grip hard and make it plain. Or scratch and sigh.
What could I do but cut down the cherry tree. There is no plan B.
Let him bring forth what is inside, what he brings forth will save his life. If he does not, what he won't bring, will rot and destroy everything.
Burning bridges babe to give me some light. All around the ones who failed in the fight. The friends you've thrown away. The bonds untied. The chant "Stars start only with selfish guys"
What could I do but cut down the cherry tree. There is no plan B.
This is a home demo of a song I wrote called Right Here. It says "You don't have to go" to someone who's been gone for a long time. But if you find a way to say goodbye for your entire lifetime long then in a way that person's never really gone. And so here you are honey.
Sinatra is as great as everyone says he is. That being said though, I never liked his version of this song, it always sounds stiff to me. It's a great song though, someone is contemplating suicide and the music is upbeat. If they're going to tap dance on your grave anyway you might as well tap dance all the way up to the hole.
I know we've met some other time. Welcome back. Welcome back, it's been a long while. We are running on such short time. In the snow the clocks still go, the tower bells chime.
Life is hard. Life is hard. There's so much that's hard. Make love easy.
In my dreams there's a place to hide. There's no tears cried, you're at my side, we skip the bad lines. But I wake up to a world of sighs. Just what to do to get to you I just can't decide.
Life is hard. Life is hard. There's so much that's hard. Make love easy.
Coming round again to show the things that you have dropped into my bowl. If you don't believe this never ends I've got something to show you, I've got something to show you, I've got something to show you.
Good things often get left behind to beg and die with hungry eyes in a ditch a mile wide. Don't be guilty of such a crime. The verdict sent reads innocent when two hearts entwine.
Life is hard. Life is hard. There's so much that's hard. Make love easy.
"Where does your loyalty lie?" is a question that human beings constantly have to answer. Clearly in the song the "correct" response seems to be "to the human race" (and in a broad sense I think it is), but lets get more specific. I was thinking about the Iraq war when I wrote the song, and about how nationalism leads to a disregard for the human life that doesn't live in the same place we do. And it does, and a major part of the song is clearly about that. But putting aside the Iraq war for a minute, what if you narrowed down the phrase "the land where you reside" to "the city that you live in"? Or how about to "the house that you live in"? Or how about even further to "the people in that house"?. So if it's, "to the human race or the people in your home" where does that leave you? If your child committed what you believed to be an awful crime would you turn them in? It's a disturbing question, it's certainly not a question that's original to me, and it's a question that the human race will have to ask themselves for as long as we're still around.
Where does your loyalty lie. To the human race or the land where you reside. And there’s a time when silence is the same as to hide. And there’s a time when a traitor’s way is not taking a side.
And from the heart through the fog and the sky. Through the crowd, pushing back against the tide.
Where does your loyalty lie. To the human race or the land where you reside. And there’s a time when silence is the same as to hide. And there’s a time when a traitor’s way is not taking a side.
Lifted up from the ground to your eyes. Look here past the haze, through their lies.
Where does your loyalty lie. To the human race or the land where you reside. And there’s a time when silence is the same as to hide. And there’s a time when a traitor’s way is not taking a side.
And to the sound of mourning I opened my eyes. There was a crowd performing my last rites.
And they're whispering things to make sure I see the ones that got away will bury me.
There's only two excuses that could make it allright. Either you lost your cellphone or your in hell tonight.
And if you're going down you'll be following me. The ones that got away will bury me.
Baby life is hard as the dirt flies up. You only get one chance before the shovels turn up to pack down all the hope they were offering up. And leave you there holding onto dirt and to dust.
I've got a hard ceiling for my sky. It's solid wood and blocks out all the light.
And I'll never look beyond it to see. The ones that got away will bury me.
This song was originaly sung by the country singer George Jones. At his best he's an awesome singer, but he doesn't write his own songs and has been given, or chosen, a lot of shitty songs to sing. This is one of his best though and his version is one of the greatest country records ever made.
Woody Guthrie had “This Machine Kills Fascists” written on his guitar, that’s where I got that line from. And "That's All Right Mama" was one of the first things Elvis Presley recorded at Sun Records, it's sometimes referred to as the first rock song. There is no real agreement on what the first rock song was though. A lot of people say it was "Rocket 88" by Jackie Brenston and his Delta Cats which was released in 1951, and other people say it was "Rock Around The Clock" released by Bill Haley and the Comets in 1954. For the purpose of this song though let's just assume it was "That's All Right Mama".
Well hey this is the big one. This is the one that they will remember us by. For all of the people not paying attention, the fire has leapt to the sky. This is our war. This is our time. Lift up your head. The heart has bled. Baby open your eyes.
Have you looked outside? Its time. Have you looked outside baby. Have you looked outside? Its time. Have you looked outside baby.
There’s a corporate heart beating. A corrupted cancer that has spread far and wide. And the revolution will sort things together. The first shots been fired all right. Contract the score. Loosen the ties. Tremble ye trends, the brass will bend, the baby opens it’s eyes.
Have you looked outside? Its time. Have you looked outside baby. Have you looked outside? Its time. Have you looked outside baby.
And now the choir is empty, the church is exploding, the volume is blasting inside. And believe in the danger, this machine kills fascists, from “That’s All Right Mama” till now All things will end, and then begin, new if you stand up my friend I say right now is the time.
Have you looked outside? Its time. Have you looked outside baby. Have you looked outside? Its time. Have you looked outside baby.
This is one of the best songs Howlin' Wolf ever sang. Sam Phillips of Sun Records once said of Howlin' Wolf's songs, "This is where the soul of man never dies". There's three verses in the original version but I wanted it to be longer so I wrote lyrics for a fourth one.
Tom Petty has a song called Have Love Will Travel and there's a line in it that goes "And the lonely DJ's digging a ditch, trying to keep the flames from the temple". The temple is rock and roll and the DJ is the last one left. If he ended up burning in the flames or dying in the ditch the message is the same. Here's why I died this way, it meant a lot to me.
See the white flags flying on the dead and dying. An endless line of cowards duck. In the surrender they'll take you under, and take their bows in ash and dust.
Baby brace we'll show them dangers face.
I don't know about forever. But the line's in the sand tonight. Nothing ever lasts forever. But for one last holding tough tonight is long enough.
Theres an ocean sighing. There's no denying, seagulls sing, the currents suck. Baby just keep the faith in the big beat to clear the crowds and call the bluff.
Here, come taste a lonely dying race.
I don't know about forever. But the line's in the sand tonight. Nothing ever lasts forever. But for one last holding tough, tonight is long enough.
I don't know about forever. But the line's in the sand tonight. Nothing ever lasts forever. But for one last holding tough, tonight is long enough.
Money changers in the temple, there shall be a reckoning. There’s more sex and violence in 80 year old blues records than there are in 50 Cent and Lil' Wayne's entire "catalogue".
I really love this song, my favorite version is one I heard by Tony Bennett. I think he recorded it recently, like within the last ten years. It reminds me of this time I was with this girl out to dinner. This song came on and I remember thinking to myself that she looked so pretty right then that I'd remember it for the rest of my life.
And they wrote it on the wall. And they wrote in on the bathroom stall. I could have told them one and all who to put their faith in. Let it flow from the top down in. Humming low, angels crowding in.
And hey God did you think you were the only one who could drink? You want shots, I’ve got shots, I’ve got shots, just for Him. And angel did you think you were the only one who’s got wings? On this spot, here’s the spot, where the Lord, cashes in.
And if what you’re waiting for isn’t every gonna come at all, with you’re back against the wall, raise ‘em two shots back in. And the poles keep us in the spin. But we can roll, and they can suck the king.
And hey God did you think you were the only one who could drink? You want shots, I’ve got shots, I’ve got shots, just for Him. And angel did you think you were the only one who’s got wings? On this spot here’s the spot where the Lord cashes in.
And they wrote in on the wall. And they wrote it on the bathroom stall. See him stumble to the wall, watch his vision blacken. In the cold there’s a bar that spins. Breaking bold, drinking God to win.
And hey God did you think you were the only one who could drink? You want shots, I’ve got shots, I’ve got shots, just for Him. And angel did you think you were the only one who’s got wings? On this spot here’s the spot where the Lord cashes in.
I went to a private school, those things that make an impression on you when you're young are the things you tend to go back to. Things like that are hard to get over; all you can do is keep trying.
Your clothes. Your car. It's the newest model baby, it can take you fast and far. Your hair. Perfume. The wallet in your pocket holds a lot of silver spoons.
Your not counting, I'm counting. Big mansion. I'm drowning baby.
Rich girls. I don't want your money. How much did that purse cost baby, my hearts gone, I just want to touch it. I just want to touch it.
Your house. Your boat. Your pool is filled with water that could keep a man afloat. I know your perks. You've got everything you need without a minute of hard work.
Your not counting, I'm counting. Your charging and I'm drowning baby.
Rich girls. I don't want your money. How does that thing drive now baby, my hearts gone, I just want to touch it. I just want to touch it.
And I get knocked down. And I get knocked down. And I get knocked down to you. On your scented ground. On your scented ground. On your scented ground and all the chores your butlers do.
How much can you take. Your lips could hold a million, at least twenty in your face. I can't get straight if it's your jeans or whats inside of them that makes them look so great.
You're not counting. I'm counting. Mercedes. I'm drowning baby.
Rich girls. I don't want your money. What's your bottom line now baby, my hearts gone, I just want to touch it. I just want to touch it.
The arrangement is influenced by the Clancy Brothers, the song is for reporters, network news anchors, cable news anchors, cowards everywhere. You may not know what you are but I do; may God have mercy on your souls. Slaintè.
Have you heard about the new way things are done. There’s an abscess here spread with a journalists tongue.
Choke this Republic boys. Choke this Republic numb. There’s nothing noble left among print, or post, or television.
They can plant the cheer and watch the echo come. Here’s the media, complicit, used up, whored and dumb.
Choke this Republic boys. Choke this Republic dumb. There’s nothing noble left among print, or post, or television.
And the more you try to suck up to the gun the more you are accountable to everyone that’s fired upon.
And the next big war we will draft each and every one. A reporters war. The blood thick on the network floor.
Choke this Republic boys. Choke this Republic numb. There’s nothing noble left among print, or post, or television. Choke this Republic boys. Choke this Republic dumb. There’s nothing noble left among print, or post, or television.
"If hymns were rock music sung to worship whatever you happened to believe in then it would sound like Zak Smith...These are the thoughts of a man in his mid-twenties. Rather than confounding us with wisdom beyond his years he is being true to himself and singing about what he actually knows and with that comes a certain frankness. Combine that with a soulful but raw voice and guitars that are alive with riffs and energy"-Glasswerk.com album review.
This is singer/songwriter Zak Smith's blog. He writes about music and posts his songs and videos here. Go to Zaksmithlive.com for more information.