Stealing from Leonard's storehouse

'Four in the morning
The end of December,
Your famous blue raincoat
I'll always remember.

You've taken Manhattan
By storm & by fire,
Now here in Berlin
Sits this bird on the wire.

You pull on a cigarette,
Blow smoke-rings my way,
What can you tell me
My brother, my killer...

What can you possibly say?

You've been to the end of love
And there to travelled blind,
You said so long to so many
You farewelled your own mind.

"Be a good whore" you bid,
You just love to confront.
I fear your silver tongue
Might think me a cunt!

I sink beneath your wisdom 
As I steal another line.
"Steal only what's yours," you growl,
"This storehouse is mine."