As I have delved even deeper into the music and writings of Leonard Cohen since his passing, searching for a particle of solace in what has been for me a profound loss, I am struck, again and again, by the thought that we simply did not deserve him, this sage of a man, nor his incisive, incomparable art. He was prophetic in his acerbic vision of an age in decline, but even more so in his chronicling of the essential search, of the hammerings of a famished heart to drive a nail through the ache of never enough, of a life impaled by sorrow.
He was a true king among men. We were so very lucky to have had him.
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