Tonart: D minor
Intro 1
Dm
C
F
Gm
Bb
Dm
C
Gm
F
Dm
C
F
Gm
A
Bb
A
Gm
A
Dm
C
Gm
Bb
Dm
C
Gm
F
Dm
Verse 1
C
I could never tell you
Gm
Bb
Dm
The impossible story
C
Gm
Words will never get close to
C
Dm
The colour of your mourning
C
You know that I am so sincere
Gm
Am
Dm
But what is that helping?
Bb
A
Gm
I won't be the author of a story
A
That is not mine to tell
Dm
C
Make the fuckers talk
Gm
Bb
Dm
C
Gm
F
Standing in the flame of fire
Dm
C
Say it like it is
Gm
A
Shout it like you're in the fire
Bb
A
Am
Gm
Verse 2
A
Dm
F
As angry and as urgent as a teen
Gm
I try to set the scene,
Bb
natural human instinct is to intervene
Dm
The same that cut the ones
F
who dare to dream
Gm
Cos shit is so naive,
F
are cutting down the very thing that the people need
Dm
Cos everything is already
F
been seen
Gm
And already been deemed to be
Dm
agreed and disagreed
And it seems we're
first
F
past the post steez
Gm
In a post modern post truth
F
world truth's ghostly
Dm
For what it's worth
C
F
you can quote me and
Gm
I'm a lay it like an IED and
Bb
Dm
trigger it re motely
F
No wonder these bars get
banked with boasting
Gm
F
Privilege does not necessarily
Dm
mean you're coasting
F
So keep a pin close to burst
the bubble
Gm
Of some earnest motherfucker that
Bb
Dm
has gone to the trouble
Of being a grave digger digging
C
F
the dead to life
Gm
There's nothing to suggest
F
that salvation will arrive
Dm
C
And to remind me of it is so contrived
F
Gm
I don't need a broken record
Bb
to bring me down off my high
Dm
I just need these green eyes
F
to roll back and sigh
Gm
As much as I wish that I
F
Dm
had the answer why
Verse 3
C
Make the fuckers talk
Gm
Bb
Standing in the flame
Dm
C
Gm
of fire
F
Dm
C
Say it like it is
Gm
F
Shout it like you're in the fire
Bb
A
Am
Gm
A
Dm
C
I could never tell you
Gm
Bb
Dm
The impossible story
C
Gm
Words will never get close to
C
Dm
The colour of your morning
C
You know that I am so sincere
Gm
Am
Dm
But what is that helping
Bb
A
Gm
I can't be the author of a story
A
That is not mine to tell
Dm
This is not the body that has
Verse 4
C
grown out of a squalor
Gm
Bb
This is not the optimism born
from living horror
Dm
The guilt could make a brother
C
wanna lose a white collar
Gm
But uh he need
it today he'll
Dm
give it up tomorra
The dirt under the fingernails
C
was never the grains
Gm
That the bones had replaced
Am
in a rubbish tip grave
Bb
The sweat they wiped off when
Dm
they put their knives away
Is the same sweat we get when
A
Am
we dance the night away
Dm
And if I could turn the sun around
C
and il luminate the hell
F
Cos you best believe it can be found
Bb
C
where humanity dwell
Dm
An d I could write a book about
C
a book that wouldn't sell
Gm
Be the author of a story that
F
Dm
was never mine to tell but
Where would that lead us? Preach
Gm
To believers we're needing
Bb
relievers but
Dm
I am no teacher and
you resent the grievance
F
Gm
But if I don't at least try it's like
F
I deceived yaz
Dm
The story must be told some
F
narratives must
Gm
But it won't be delivered
Bb
by the man in the tux
Dm
Nor will it be heard over the
F
inner city folk
Gm
Saying fuck it all fuck it all fuck
F
Dm
it all for all 12 months
Verse 5
C
I could never tell you
Gm
Bb
The impossible story
Dm
C
Words will never get
Gm
close to
F
Dm
The colour of your morning
C
You know that I am so sincere
Gm
Am
Dm
But what is that helping
Bb
A
Am
Gm
I can't be the author of a story
A
Dm
That is not mine to tell
Outro 1
C
Gm
Bb
Dm
C
Gm
F
Gm
Dm
C
Gm
A
Dm
Bb
A
Am
Dm
Gm
A
Dm
C
Gm
Bb
Dm
C
Gm
F
Dm
C
Gm
A
Bb
A
Am
Gm
A
Dm
C
F
Gm
Bb
Dm
C
Gm
F
Dm
C
Gm
A
Bb
A
Gm
A
Dm
F
Dm
Gm
Bb
Dm
F
Gm
F
Dm
Gm
A
Bb
A
Am
Gm
A
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TunerE A D G B E
Akkorde & SongtexteDm C F Gm Bb...
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