I still haven’t found anyone who does quiet apocalyptic mourning quite like Bruce Cockburn and Joni Mitchell do.

Bruce Cockburn - Embers of Eden

you knelt on the carpet, crimson and stained

light trickled over your black dress like rain

your lips were hot, and my shocked heart screamed

and i can’t scrape my eyes free of this dream

we each occupy the same space/time

matter, antimatter, tangled like vines

and the awful tolling, and the cold rain outside

and i cannot scrape this dream off my eyes

and the embers of Eden burn, you can even see it from space

and the great and winding wall between us seems to copy the lines of your face

Bruce Cockburn - Last Night of The World

if this was the last night of the world, what would i do?

what would i do that was different, unless it was champagne with you?

We’re the insect life of paradise:
Crawl across leaf or among towering blades of grass
Glimpse only sometimes the amazing breadth of heaven

Bruce Cockburn, “Isn’t That What Friends Are For”

Bruce Cockburn: Look How Far (1999)

on this rooftop where we’re sitting in the rays of the setting sun

glasses of wine on a crate between us catch the light,

seem to glow from within

and there’s a laugh hanging in the air

and there’s no desperation anywhere

so many miles, so many doors; some need patience, some need force

all fall open in their own due course to allow us this time

and you’re limned in light, golden and thin

looks to me like you’re lit up from within

and look how far the light came to paint you this way

There’s a very funny post-canon, on-Cardassia Garak lurking in these lyrics…

Rays of the moon make magic in the streets of the city
All the people get strange but their faces look so pretty
The walking graffiti, survivalist bums
Even the secret police shout that you’re the one
See how I miss you

Every psychopath gets his own magazine these days
I just read about how I can kill in a hundred ways
But I don’t want to cause anybody pain
I only want to hold you in my arms again
See how I miss you

I watch this woman in a tight sequined lizard dress –
Tosses her scarlet hair like a sly caress
She got midnight voice like some beckoning saint
She got something special but you she ain’t
See how I miss you

I’ve got a Bruce Cockburn song stuck in my head and I’m not depressed enough to properly enjoy it.