Tom: A
A F#m Bm D E
[Verse 1]
A
Three brides before breakfast
F#m
These rails just wrecked us
Bm
My right hand on my heart
D E
While my left hand snaps your necklace
A
Each day gets a little more scary
F#m
We're holding on, in a way, but just barely
Bm D E
Moms and Dads are rationing their cash for the commissary
[Chorus 1]
C#m F#m Bm E C#m
But I can't stop without going all the way
F#m Bm E
It's a habit someone gave me
A
The nursemaid of the blank page
F#m
A canary of the American eclipse
Bm E
A profiteer picking up pink slips
A F#m Bm D E
[Verse 2]
A
This wish just to go back, hey
F#m
When I know wasn't ever, ever happy
Bm D E
Show me my best memory, it's probably super crappy
A
Nine years down in Texas
F#m
With sluts of both sexes
Bm D E
Liars, lumps, and drug addicts, and drunks; I love my friends
[Chorus 2]
C#m F#m Bm E C#m
But I can't stop without going all the way
F#m Bm E
And I've been that way since '83
A
The midwife of the jetlife
F#m
Or a genie with a golden spliff
Bm E
A prostitute paid in pink slips
[Bridge]
A
I crashed my Cadillac in the valley of mirrors
F#m
When the call came, there was nobody here
Bm
When they came from the communists, I kissed them on the lips
E
Then they came for the singers, in a haze of pink slips
C#m F#m Bm E A F#m Bm D E
A
I guess I was just dreaming and drifting
F#m
Or I was artificially lifted
Bm D E
Only happy until the age of 10 is still a gift
[Chorus 3]
C#m F#m Bm E C#m
But we can't go back to those two two seven days
F#m Bm E
It's just a dream we all were having
A
Hey, mariner in the dirt trade
F#m
Oh, postman of the post-apocalypse
Bm E
- from Academy Awards to pink slips!
[Verse 3]
A
And I showered my Corvette with Moët for years
F#m
Now I'm standing in the rain drinking the champagne of beers
Bm
They say, "Who's that shadow sneaking off behind the pier?
E
He was rushed and then he was rattled, but now he's finally in the clear
A
To be a refugee from the rat race
F#m
In his white tuxedo and his sad-face
Bm E
A music group that your dad plays, singing songs about autumn days
A
He's the laureate of the Granite State
F#m
Now he doesn't even write, he just riffs
Bm E A
And they'll cover up his coffin with pink slips."
