Tonart: Bb minor
Verse 1
Am
F
C
Like a burning monk
Am
My light flared out in the dark
Em
You're my constant call to arms
Am
Em
F
Took the blindfold off then left chalk
C
outlines where the future was
It's a goddamn war of attrition
Am
It's a death by a thousand
Em
Am
Em
cuts
And if these motherfuckers
made it to heaven
F
They burned the bridge when
they got across
Verse 2
C
They're gathering anchors,
F
You push into heaven all
alone
C
They're grabbing your ankles,
F
The ebb and the distant flow
G
They're cutting your wings off
C
Am
Built your ceilings out
Verse 3
C
Well you cut like gravel
Em
The wound will close eventually
Am
Em
C
Em
F
You'll stay as a reminder
C
of how fucked this world can be
Am
Held your funeral on a Tuesday
Holy waters, November cold
C
Em
F
The kid who pulled the trigger
Knew too well, couldn't promise him hope
Verse 4
C
G
All these bastards are gathering rope
F
You push into heaven all alone
C
They're grabbing your ankles,
F
The ebb and the distant flow
G
They're cutting your wings off
C
Am
Built your ceiling s out
G
They were cutting your wings off
C
Am
F
I was staring at my idle hands
Maybe I could've done
Em
F
something
Em
Maybe I could've made a dif ference
Interlude 1
Em
F
Em
F
Em
F
Em
F
G
Am
Verse 5
Am
John Wayne with a God complex
Am
Like shooting a teenage kid is
gonna solve any problems
F
Like it's an arms race,
like death don't mean nothing
Am
To know the heavy price of a living boy?
F
The world in my red lines,
backed into a corner
C
Not knowing growing up what it's
like to belong here in America
Verse 6
Am
feels the same then how come
F
building's so fucking hard for you?
It's something we're all
G
Am
Enough is enough, too gray
F
It's black or white and sometimes
black and blue
C
It's something we're all born into,
whoa-oh
G
Am
Now Now I know what's in a name,
not just my father
F
This old man makes half of me,
why should I bother?
Stuck in the dead fucking John Wayne's
Am
Everything in front of me,
but there is far enough
dreams they call America
C
I am the general's chosen one
Verse 7
The privileged bastard's son
C
G
Am
They're gathering anchors,
they're gathering rope
F
You push into heaven all
alone
C
They're gathering anchors,
they're gathering rope
You push into heaven all alone,
Am
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TunerE A D G B E
Akkorde & SongtexteAm F C Em G
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