Verse
F#m E
All the actors say the streets are bathed in fire
F#m E
And all the action happens in the mouth of a bourboned liar
D A
We're gonna riot on the streets today!
D A
Smash an apple on the face of the state:
[Chorus]
D E D E
Fundamentally opposed to the cut of your clothes
D E D E F#m G#m
Put your mouth in the sky and push it to edge of flight.
[Verse 2]
F#m E
Autumn's faction bursts into the Hyatt and demands a sum:
F#m E
The golden statue puzzles and attempts one awkward pun:
D A
Feed a fever as the five fevers rage
D A
Feed a fever and paginate your page!
[Chorus]
D E D E
Fundamentally opposed to the cost of your coal
D E D E
Shopkeeper keeps a bowl and he spits his mouth's full
D E D E
In spite of the winds and the customs of pimps:
D E D E
The moon sheds its rise! The moon sheds its rise!
C#m Bm A G#m E F#m
e|--------------------------------------------------|
B|--------------------------------------------------|
G|--------------------------------------------------|
D|--9----7----5----4----0--2/-----------------------|
A|--------------------------------------------------|
E|--------------------------------------------------|
[Bridge]
Bm F#m
The country child culled an abundance of hay:
Bm F#m D
And I want his uncle's gold: And I want it today-ay!
F#m D
I said it!
F#m D
I said it!
F#m D F#m
I said it! Four fingered-waif's got to stop!
A B A G#m E F#m
e|--------------------------------------------------|
B|--------------------------------------------------|
G|--------------------------------------------------|
D|--------------------------------------------------| x2
A|--10----12----10--12--10--9--10--9--5----7--------|
E|--------------------------------------------------|
(I think this is the bass line... anyway it sounds pretty good to me!)
[Outro]
D F#m D F#m
You don't fear the reaper, you don't fear his son,
D F#m D F#m A
You better fear the chorus, twelve ragged fingers pointed out at one!
F#m A
You stick a rose in the golden sand!
F#m A
You stick a rose in the golden sand!
F#m A
You stick a rose in the golden sand!
F#m
One writer is short of his daisies...
A B A G#m E F#m
e|--------------------------------------------------|
B|--------------------------------------------------|
G|--------------------------------------------------|
D|--------------------------------------------------|
A|--10----12----10--12--10--9--10--9--5----7--------|
E|--------------------------------------------------|