The Futures Are Bleeding. Leonard Cohen Already Told You Why.

When markets plunge and chaos reigns, maybe it’s time we stop quoting Wall Street and start listening to prophets.

The S&P 500 futures plunged overnight like a skydiver whose parachute was made of accounting spreadsheets. Nasdaq futures toppled like a tech bro on a hoverboard. President Donald Trump called it “medicine.” Analysts called it a warning. But Leonard Cohen — he called it murder.

In 1992, Cohen released The Future, a song that reads today like a market briefing written by a prophet in exile. “I've seen the future, brother: it is murder,” he growled. As global markets convulse under the weight of a tariff-fueled spiral and geopolitical brinkmanship, we’re watching two stories converge — one economic, one existential. And both are unraveling fast.

THE FUTURES DON'T LIE — THEY JUST BLEED SILENTLY

The financial headlines are clinical: futures plunge, global markets shudder, investors brace for Monday. But behind the numbers is a darker truth. These aren’t just trades — they’re signals of collapse. The kind of collapse Cohen whispered about three decades ago.

“Things are going to slide, slide in all directions…”

Trump’s tariffs are not targeted policy — they’re economic arson. Designed to inflame, not to heal. And like all firestarters, he’s not sticking around to count the ashes. Wall Street is hemorrhaging. Investors are fleeing. And underneath the red candles on the charts, you can almost hear the ghost of Cohen muttering, told you so.

GIVE ME BACK THE BERLIN WALL — COHEN'S BLEAK VISION

Cohen’s The Future isn’t just about geopolitical decay. It’s about cultural exhaustion. The death of meaning. The rise of the strongman. The erosion of systems built on trust. Sound familiar?

“Take the only tree that’s left / Stuff it up the hole in your culture…”

His lyrics aren’t nostalgic — they’re nihilistic. A recognition that progress can rot just as fast as it can grow. And today, as Wall Street becomes the world’s panic index, Cohen’s words are less poetry than prophecy. This isn’t just about economics. It’s about the end of illusions. And maybe the end of something bigger.

THE COST OF MEDICINE

Trump’s defenders call the tariffs “medicine.” But if this is medicine, what disease are we treating — and who’s prescribing the cure? The people bearing the cost aren’t hedge fund managers or CEOs. They’re farmers, single mothers, port workers, and pensioners watching their savings erode under inflation and instability.

Meanwhile, the president smiles through the smoke and tweets about strength.

He doesn’t see the red on the board. Or he does — and he likes the color.

MAYBE WE SHOULD START LISTENING TO POETS

Analysts write reports. Cohen wrote warnings. And in The Future, he offered a brutal, honest chorus for the age we’re entering:

“I've seen the future, brother: it is murder.”

We should have listened.

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