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Dress Rehearsal Rag - Leonard Cohen (莱昂纳德·科恩)
Lyrics by：Cohen
Composed by：Cohen
I got up sometimes in the middle of afternoon
And I didn't feel like very much
I said to myself where are you golden boy
Where is your famous golden touch
I thought you knew where
All of the elephants lie down
I thought you were the crown prince
Of all the wheels in Ivory Town
Look at your body now
There's nothing much to save
And a bitter voice in the mirror cries
Hey Prince you need a shave
Now if you can manage to get
Your trembling fingers to behave
Why don't you try unwrapping
A stainless steel razor blade
That's right it's come to this
Yes it's come to this
And wasn't it a long way down
And wasn't it a strange way down
There's no hot water
And the cold is running thin
Well what do you expect from
The kind of places you've been living in
Don't drink from that cup
It's all caked and cracked along the rim
That's not the electric light my friend
That is your vision that is dim
Cover up your face with soap there
Now you're Santa Claus
And you've got a gift for anyone
Who will give you his applause
I thought you were a racing man
But you couldn't take the pace
That's a funeral in the mirror
And it's stopping at your face
That's right it's come to this
Yes it's come to this
And wasn't it a long way down
And wasn't it a strange way down
Once there was a path
And a girl with chestnut hair
And you passed the summers
Picking all of the berries that grew there
There were times she was a woman
There was time she was just a child
And you held her in the shadows
Where the raspberries grow wild
And you climbed the Twilight Mountains
And you sang about the view
And everywhere that you wandered
Love went along with you
That's a hard one to remember
It makes you clench your fist
And then the veins stand out like highways
All along your wrist
That's right it's come to this
Yes it's come to this
And wasn't it a strange way down
And wasn't it a long way down
You can still find a job
Go out and talk to a friend
On the back of every magazine
There are those coupons you can send
Why don't you join the Rosicrucian's
They will give you back your hope
You can find your love with diagrams
On a plain brown envelope
But you've used up all your coupons
Except the one that seems
To be tattooed on your wrist
Along with several thousand dreams
Now Santa Claus comes forward
That's a razor in his mitt
And he puts on his dark glasses
And he shows you where to hit
And then the cameras pan
The stand in stuntman's
Dress rehearsal rag
It's dress rehearsal rag
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