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