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