Leonard Cohen - It Swings, Jocko lyrics
[Leonard Cohen - It Swings, Jocko lyrics]
It swings, Jocko
But we do not want too much flesh in it
Make it like fifteenth-century prayers
Love with no climax, constant love
And passion without flesh
(Draw those out, Jocko
Like the long snake from Moses' arm
How he must have screamed
To see a snake come out of him
No wonder he never felt holy:
We want that scream tonight)
Lightly, lightly, i want to be hungry
Hungry for food, for love, for flesh
I want my dreams to be of deprivation
Gold thorns being drawn from my temples
If I am hungry then I am great
And I love like the passionate scientist
Who knows the sky
Is made only of wavelengths
Now if you want to stand up
Stand up lightly
We'll lightly march around the city
I'm behind you, man
And the streets are spread
With chicks and palms
White branches and summer arms
We're going through on tiptoe
Like monks before the Virgin's statue
We built the city
We drew the water through
We hang around the rinks
The bars, the festive halls
Like Breugel's men hungry, hungry
Come back, Jocko
Bring it all back for the people here
It's your turn now
But we do not want too much flesh in it
Make it like fifteenth-century prayers
Love with no climax, constant love
And passion without flesh
(Draw those out, Jocko
Like the long snake from Moses' arm
How he must have screamed
To see a snake come out of him
No wonder he never felt holy:
We want that scream tonight)
Lightly, lightly, i want to be hungry
Hungry for food, for love, for flesh
I want my dreams to be of deprivation
Gold thorns being drawn from my temples
If I am hungry then I am great
And I love like the passionate scientist
Who knows the sky
Is made only of wavelengths
Now if you want to stand up
Stand up lightly
We'll lightly march around the city
I'm behind you, man
And the streets are spread
With chicks and palms
White branches and summer arms
We're going through on tiptoe
Like monks before the Virgin's statue
We built the city
We drew the water through
We hang around the rinks
The bars, the festive halls
Like Breugel's men hungry, hungry
Come back, Jocko
Bring it all back for the people here
It's your turn now