Now the Buddhists don't believe in the soul So we are to believe we are here at all Now it's cold in this house, and your ghost walks the hall Leonard Cohen is dead Fly away bird and don't ever come back Leave all these songs in an old cotton sack Freedom's no longer a stone on your back And Leonard Cohen is dead Maybe he'll come back a sparrow Singing life's sweet melody Maybe he'll come back a saint on the hill Maybe he comes back a thief Scatter his ashes, off the cliffs of San Juan Scatter his bones, on our parliament's lawn Remember his words, the poet here and gone And Leonard Cohen is dead ♪ Dance with the monks, O' Bryan Dance and don't come here at all There's a verse on the wind for the trouble we're in And Leonard Cohen is dead ♪ Now the Buddhists don't believe we even exist But the Dharma never heard a song quite like this So one glance your hand from life's angry fist Leonard Cohen is dead