Lanegan - I am the wolf: lyrics and writings

And theres Mark, sitting in his formerly drunken boat, a wry smile on his face. Good, have I done good? You want to say, Yes, youve done good. Even Jesus with his little starry crown probably thinks so. Through the waves of darkness and the literal and metaphoric bottoming out there exists a sweetness, a kindness for the reader and the listenerand sometimes even for the writer/singer. But usually the self-directed mercy is strained, as if the writers shortcomings are beyond forgiveness. He came in this world aloneSpent all his time aloneHe left this life alone Again, Jesus. He came in this world aloneSpent all his time aloneHe left this life alone Again, Jesus.

But the writer/singer, too. Marks Jesus, and the Jesus and writer/singer of Leonard Cohens Suzanne. A baffled, existential Jesus, showing up as us, staring into the void, and going quietly and sadly into the good night. This lifetime of work ages, just as the writer/singer ages. By the end of this collection some of the rage has abated, some of the violence softened. The stars and the moonArent where theyre supposed to be And theres that other through line: liquor and drugs. The stars and the moonArent where theyre supposed to be And theres that other through line: liquor and drugs.

This is how Mark and I met, at an event for people whod ended up loving liquor and drugs a bit too much. When youve been at the bottom you end up humbled. And humiliated, broken by the choice between delusion and sickness and death or honesty and humility and some type of life. Mark has chosen honesty and humility and some type of life, and the honesty and the humility inform all of these words and songs. You dont love meWhats to love, anyway? The cry of the broken, as if to say, Why would I bother to live? Life is wasted on me. But somehow, strangely, we end up alive when our betters are long dead.

Every addict has woken up at some point and thought, nonplussed and disappointed, Why am I still alive? But were alive. Oddly. Somehow. And as we come back to some semblance of sanity and life we always remember our debasements and horrors and viciousness and fear. And it informs everything we are and end up being. Hopefully.

But underneath theres still the self-doubt, the plague of the knowledge that were lesser than. My favorite lines in Marks lyric poem book are these: Im sorryIm sorryIm sorry Its what we say to everyone. To ourselves. To the people who raised us. To the people whove loved us. Im sorry And through these beautiful words theres honesty and grace and humility and even some libido. Im sorry And through these beautiful words theres honesty and grace and humility and even some libido.

But underneath is that sweet refrain. Im sorry We couldve done better. We couldve been better. Were sorry. My sin is done, and it wont be forgiven But it will, it has, and somehow, somewhere we know the truth of that.