Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc  as she came riding through the dark;  no moon to keep her armour bright,  no man to get her through this very smoky night.  She said, “I’m tired of the war,  I want the kind of work I had before,  a wedding dress or something white  to wear upon my swollen appetite.”  Well, I’m glad to hear you talk this way,  you know I’ve watched you riding every day  and something in me yearns to win  such a cold and lonesome heroine.  “And who are you?” she sternly spoke  to the one beneath the smoke.  “Why, I’m fire,” he replied,  “And I love your solitude, I love your pride.”  “Then fire, make your body cold,  I’m going to give you mine to hold,”  saying this she climbed inside  to be his one, to be his only bride.  And deep into his fiery heart  he took the dust of Joan of Arc,  and high above the wedding guests  he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.  It was deep into his fiery heart  he took the dust of Joan of Arc,  and then she clearly understood  if he was fire, oh then she must be wood.  I saw her wince, I saw her cry,  I saw the glory in her eye.  Myself I long for love and light,  but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright? 
Leonard Cohen - Joan Of Arc

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding through the dark;
no moon to keep her armour bright,
no man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, “I’m tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
a wedding dress or something white
to wear upon my swollen appetite.”
Well, I’m glad to hear you talk this way,
you know I’ve watched you riding every day
and something in me yearns to win
such a cold and lonesome heroine.
“And who are you?” she sternly spoke
to the one beneath the smoke.
“Why, I’m fire,” he replied,
“And I love your solitude, I love your pride.”

“Then fire, make your body cold,
I’m going to give you mine to hold,”
saying this she climbed inside
to be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.

It was deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and then she clearly understood
if he was fire, oh then she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry,
I saw the glory in her eye.
Myself I long for love and light,
but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?

Leonard Cohen - Joan Of Arc

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