Its four in the morning, the end of December 
Im writing you now just to see if youre better 
New York is cold, but I like where Im living 
Theres music on Clinton Street all through the evening. 
I hear that youre building your little house deep in the desert 
Youre living for nothing now, I hope youre keeping some kind of record. 

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair 
She said that you gave it to her 
That night that you planned to go clear 
Did you ever go clear? 

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older 
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder 
Youd been to the station to meet every train 
And you came home without Lili Marlene 

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life 
And when she came back she was nobodys wife. 

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth 
One more thin gypsy thief 
Well I see Janes awake 
She sends her regards. 

And what can I tell you my brother, my killer 
What can I possibly say? 
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you 
Im glad you stood in my way. 

If you [bad word] by here, for Jane or for me 
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free. 

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes 
I thought it was there for good so I never tried. 

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair 
She said that you gave it to her 
That night that you planned to go clear 
Sincerely, L. Cohen