C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
My
|
love she speaks like
silence,
|
|
without ideals or
|
violence,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
She doesn't have to say she's
|
faithful,
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
Yet
|
she's true, like
|
ice, like
|
fire.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
People carry roses,
|
|
and make promises by the
|
hours,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
My love she laughs like the
|
flowers,
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
|
Valentines
|
can't
|
buy her.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
In the
|
dime stores and bus
stations,
|
|
people talk of situ
|
ations,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
Read books, repeat quo
|
tations,
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
Draw con
|
clusions
|
on the
|
wall.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
Some speak of the future,
|
|
my love she speaks
|
softly,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
She knows there's no success like
|
failure
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
And that
|
failure's no
|
success at
|
all.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
||||
The
|
cloak and dagger dangles,
|
|
madams light the
|
candles.
|
||||
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|||||
|
|
In ceremonies of the
|
horsemen,
|
|||||
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
Even the
|
pawn must
|
hold a
|
grudge.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
Statues made of match sticks
|
|
crumble into one a
|
nother,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
My love winks, she does not
|
bother,
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
She
|
knows too much to
|
argue or to
|
judge.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
The
|
bridge at midnight trembles,
|
|
the country doctor
|
rambles,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
Bankers' nieces seek per
|
fection,
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
Expecting
|
all the gifts
|
that wise men
|
bring.
|
|
C
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
The wind howls like a hammer,
|
|
the night blows cold and
|
rainy,
|
|
G
|
F
|
C
|
|
|
My love she's like some
|
raven
|
|
Dm
|
F
|
G
|
At my
|
window with a
|
broken
|
wing.
|
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