I can't leave my house
Or answer the phone
I'm going down again
But I'm
not alone
Settling at last
Accounts of the soul
This for the
trash
That paid in full
As for the fall, it
Began long ago
Can't
stop the rain
Can't stop the snow
I sit in my chair
I look at the
street
The neighbor returns
My smile of defeat
I move with the
leaves
I shine with the chrome
I'm almost alive
I'm almost at
home
No one to follow
And nothing to teach
Except that the
goal
Falls short of the reach
(Leonard Cohen, póstumo)
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