Song Of Destruction (Written By Cohen, Performed I Lyrics

(Frank & Louis)   Are you still here? What are you waiting for?
                  Your lives to change? An oracle to speak?
                  Some version of the wounded matador
                  Who turns toward the bull his other cheek
                  And entertains you with a torn physique?
                  Some prisoner in pyjamas dancing lewd
                  Trablinka waltzes, while another freak
                  Hangs himself to concentrate your mood
                  And sweeten up your putrid solitude?

(Michael)         My drummer is the only one I trust
                  Let the drums go rolling through the night
                  And let them pulverise my deep disgust
                  With steady thunder, whips and dynamite
                  The man of sticks and skins is always right.
                  I found him near the cremetorium
                  Humiliated, begging for a fight.
                  I wrote the name of honour on a drum
                  O drummer tell the people why I've come!

                  O listen to him and his saxophone

(Frank & Louis)   Our musical genital unicorn

(Michael)         He's very well hung with his golden horn
                  He'd like to be standing out here alone
                  The light on his hands, his mouth, and his bone.

(Frank & Louis)   So take your solo now and loose your way
                  In every fingered hole and brassy groan...
                  You'll soon begin to choke on what you play

(Michael)         You're choking now exactly as I say!

(Michael, Frank   As for the deeper spirits in the hall
 & Louis)         Annointed ones and truely different
                  Whom orgy doesn't satisfy at all
                  Who loathe the horizontal argument
                  
(Frank & Louis)   It is to such as you that he was sent.

(Michael)         I understand the loyalties that insist
                  You burn a child or shoot a president
                  Or tattoo numbers on a woman's wrist
                  I know the sorrow of the good idealist.

                  It is to such as you that I was sent
                  To speak directly to your deepest shame
                  And light the fires of experiment
                  And burn all hesitation in the flame --
                  I claim you now, I claim you in the name
                  Of that which you have never done before
                  And having done it never be the same.
                  The victim shall be smitten on his sore.
                  The haughty one shall have a visitor.

(Michael, Frank   We heard that drummer, do not think we missed
 & Louis)         Your subtle derivation from the beat

(Michael)         Which I established with an iron fist
                  A thousand years ago, a small deceit
                  To be enlarged until you have complete
                  Control of the mood and the atmosphere --
                  Your crooked time endangering my defeat --
                  Now all your instruments must disappear
                  And on your traitor's face pursue your
                    dark career!