Tom: Em
Em
There are fleeting fits of reason between the
Am
sleeping and the drinks
Where a
B7
million different sensory
Em
experiences blink
Em
And it’s there within the momentary
Am
darkness you can breathe
Cmaj7
Be a form without
B7
reflection or
Em
debris
Em
There are bloody bouts of tenderness
Am
against the bonds of fear
Facing
B7
combat everlasting, vultures
Em
circle ever near
Em
Now they’re placing bets deciding who will
Am
be the first to feast
Cmaj7
We can flood the battle
B7
field with something
Em
weak
Am
Barrel chested bankers buying
Em
billboards by the score
Am
Placing all their eggs in baskets
B7
made of future funeral wars
Em
Now their children fight in microcosmic
Am
mirrors of their game
Cmaj7
And the messenger will
B7
always be to
Em
blame
Em
There are centuries of seasons turning
Am
white to green to brown
Cycling
B7
through each sort of sequence, turning
Em
temperaments around
Em
These incessant spinning seasons making
Am
dizzy all our days
Cmaj7
We’ll succumb to something
B7
stranger
Em
anyway
Cmaj7
Some disaster in a
B7
story ending brand new
Em
day
Am
Barrel chested bankers buying
Em
billboards by the score
Am
Placing all their eggs in baskets
B7
made of future funeral wars
Em
Now their children fight in microcosmic
Am
mirrors of their game
Cmaj7
And the messenger will
B7
always be to
Em
blame
Cmaj7
And the messenger will
B7always be to
Em
blame
