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Success is Not a Victory March

Baby I’ve been here before,
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor,
I used to live alone before I knew you.
And I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch,
and love is not a victory march,
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.

There was a time when you let me know,
What’s really going on below,
But now you never show that to me, do you?
But remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah?

Maybe there’s a God above,
But all I’ve ever learned from love,
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
And it’s not a cry that you hear at night,
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light,
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…

~Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen

It has come full circle now.
I don’t know if I can call it success when it feels so much like failure.
They failed me, I failed them.
I failed her.
And now it’s all just part of the history – something that happened to someone.
To me.

“Hallelujah,” I should say,
but how do you say that when you’re still weeping from down below?
Is it better to come from there?
Is it worth more if it is uttered with sobs and cries and passion?
Or is it meant to chime from wine stained lips, amidst the clatter of clinking glass?

I want to cry it from my lips, but it won’t be heard above the clatter.
I want to sing with every effort I have, but it won’t matter anymore.
“Hallelujah,” I should say.
But not today.

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