Leonard Cohen - Sing Another Song, Boys (Live At Isle Of Wight Festival, UK)

(Let's sing another song, boys, this one has grown old and bitter.)
Ah his fingernails, I see they're broken
his ships they're all on fire.
The moneylender's lovely little daughter
ah, she's eaten, she's eaten with desire.
She spies him through the glasses
from the pawnshops of her wicked father.
She hails him with a microphone
that some poor singer, just like me, had to leave her.
She tempts him with a clarinet
she waves a Nazi dagger.
She finds him lying in a heap;
she wants to be his woman.
He says, "Yes, I might go to sleep
but kindly leave, leave the future
leave it open."

He stands where it is steep
oh I guess he thinks that he's the very first one
his hand upon his leather belt now
like it was the wheel of some big ocean liner.
And she will learn to touch herself so well
as all the sails burn down like paper.
And he has lit the chain
of his famous cigarillo.
Ah, they'll never, they'll never ever reach the moon
at least not the one that we're after;
it's floating broken on the open sea, look out there, my friends
and it carries no survivors.
But lets leave these lovers wondering
why they cannot have each other
and let's sing another song, boys
this one has grown old and bitter.
(Let's sing another song, boys, this one has grown old and bitter.)
Ah his fingernails, I see they're broken
his ships they're all on fire.
The moneylender's lovely little daughter
ah, she's eaten, she's eaten with desire.
She spies him through the glasses
from the pawnshops of her wicked father.
She hails him with a microphone
that some poor singer, just like me, had to leave her.
She tempts him with a clarinet
she waves a Nazi dagger.
She finds him lying in a heap;
she wants to be his woman.
He says, "Yes, I might go to sleep
but kindly leave, leave the future
leave it open."

He stands where it is steep
oh I guess he thinks that he's the very first one
his hand upon his leather belt now
like it was the wheel of some big ocean liner.
And she will learn to touch herself so well
as all the sails burn down like paper.
And he has lit the chain
of his famous cigarillo.
Ah, they'll never, they'll never ever reach the moon
at least not the one that we're after;
it's floating broken on the open sea, look out there, my friends
and it carries no survivors.
But lets leave these lovers wondering
why they cannot have each other
and let's sing another song, boys
this one has grown old and bitter.
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