Tom: A minor•
Verse 1
Am
A
Am
Collagia, Collagia
Collagia was a wooden Indian
standing by the door
He fell in love with an Indian maiden
over in the antique store
Collagia
E
Just stood there and never let it show
Am
So she could never answer yes or no
A
Poor old Colliger, he never got a kiss
he don't know what he missed
A
E
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
A
E
Colliger,
A
Am
A
Am
that poor old wooden head
A
Am
Colliger, Colliger
He always wore his Sunday feathers
and held a tomahawk
The maiden wore her beads and braids
and hoped someday he'd talk
Collagia
E
Too stubborn to ever show a sign
Am
Because his heart was made of knotty pine
he never got a kiss
he don't know what he missed
A
E
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
A
E
Collagi a that wore a wooden
A
Am
A
Am
head
Bbm
Bb
And then one day a wealthy customer
Bbm
bought the Indian maid
And took her oh so far away,
but old Collagia stayed Collagia
F
Just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an
Bbm
Bb
old pine tree
Poor old Kalyza, he never got a kiss
he don't know what he missed
Bb
F
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
Bb
F
Kalyza, that poor old wooden head
Bbm
Bb
Collider, Collider, Collider
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