Tom: C
C G F C
I was born on a Sunday, with blood on my hands
C Am G
in a room full of phonographs and old electric fans
C G F C
and I slept in a graveyard for bicycles and cars
C Am G
and I dreamed of distant scenery, but I never strayed too far
F C
Because I do what they ask me
F C
I never run my mouth
F C
and by the time they turn against me
G
I'll have them figured out
C F C
And I learned to lie
C F C
By watching you turn to your enemies
C F C
And the apple you've got in your eye
Am F G
Has become a stain you don't want
C G F C
So I left the city as soon as I could walk
C Am G
But the buildings loomed like sentinels; it wasn't what I thought
C G F C
So I slept in your bathtub, while you put your make-up on
C Am G
And I daydreamed about your lungs 'til your cigarettes were gone
F C
Now I roam because I have to
F C
I'm never welcome long
F C
And thought this road leads to disaster
G
I've always got my songs
C F C
And I learned to laugh
C F C
By watching you burn all your photographs
C F C
And you're right that the good things won't last
Am G
But these wars are never won by our twiddling thumbs
F C F C
Well, I did what they asked me: I never ran my mouth
F C G
And by the time they turned against me, I had them figured out
F C F C
And now I roam because I have to: I'm never welcome long
F C G
And though this road leads to disaster, I've always got my songs
C F C
And I learned to die
C F C
By watching you choke on your misery
C F C
And if the apple is torn from my eye
Am G C
I won't be alone, because I'm going home
