Going Home
Leonard Cohen · Old Ideas [1974]
(apparently I can't include the weblink here)
I love to speak with Leonard
He's a sportsman and a shepherd
He's a lazy bastard
Living in a suit
But he does say what I tell him
Even though it isn't welcome
He just doesn't have the freedom
To refuse
He will speak these words of wisdom
Like a sage, a man of vision
Though he knows he's really nothing
But the brief elaboration of a tube
Going home
Without my sorrow
Going home
Sometime tomorrow
Going home
To where it's better
Than before
Going home
Without my burden
Going home
Behind the curtain
Going home
Without the costume
That I wore
He wants to write a love song
An anthem of forgiving
A manual for living with defeat
A cry above the suffering
A sacrifice recovering
But that isn't what I need him to complete
I want to make him certain
That he doesn't have a burden
That he doesn't need a vision
That he only has permission
To do my instant bidding
Which is to say what I have told him
To repeat
Going home
Without my sorrow
Going home
Sometime tomorrow
Going home
To where it's better
Than before
Going home
Without my burden
Going home
Behind the curtain
Going home
Without this costume
That I wore
I love to speak with Leonard
He's a sportsman and a shepherd
He's a lazy bastard
Living in a suit
Going Home
Leonard Cohen's "Going Home" appears on the 1974 album *Old Ideas*, a collection of songs that often explored themes of spiritual longing and the human condition. Released during a period when Cohen was refining his signature blend of folk, jazz, and classical influences, the track exemplifies his ability to weave poetic narrative with haunting melody. The recording reflects the introspective nature of his work from the mid-1970s, where he frequently examined the complexities of faith, mortality, and the search for meaning. As part of his broader discography, this piece stands as a testament to his capacity to transform personal reflection into universal art, characteristic of his mature style that would later define his legacy.

