by Leonard Cohen
I came by myself to a very crowded place. I was looking for someone who had lines in her face. I found her there, but she was past all concern. I asked her to hold me; I said: Lady, unfold me, but she scorned me and told me I was dead and could never return.
I argued all night, like so many have before, saying: Whatever you give me, I need so much more. Then she pointed at me where I kneeled on the floor. She said: Don’t try to use me, or slyly refuse me, just win me or lose me — it is this that the darkness is for!
I cried, O Lady Midnight, I fear that you grow old; the stars eat your body and the wind makes you cold. If we cry now, she said, it will only be ignored. So I walked through the morning, the sweet early morning, I could hear my lady calling: You’ve won me, you’ve won me, my lord.