Chords
| | D | C | G |
| | My life's like clockwork. Every | week is just the | same. |
| | D | C | G |
| | The same ambitions and the | same sources of | shame. |
| | D | C | G |
| | This deep, smooth rut is really | all I have to | show. |
| | Gmin | A | A7 |
| Eightteen was ten long years a | go | |
Chorus (repeat)
| | G | A | D | A | Bmin |
| My leather | jacket's shot to | hell | | |
| | G | A | F#min | Bmin |
| But it pro | tects me like a | shell | |
| | G | A | D | A | Bmin |
| It's something | I could never | sell | | |
| | C | A | D | G | D | G | D | G | C | G |
| Comfortable | things can fit too well. | | | | | | | | |
| |
| I've got big plans, and it feels like they weigh a ton. |
| |
| If I'm so smart, why can't I just got get it done? |
| |
| Sometimes my life feels like an essay, overdue |
| |
| I'd ace if I could follow through. |
Chorus (repeat)
| | G | A | D | A | Bmin |
| My leather | jacket's shot to | hell | | |
| | G | A | F#min | Bmin |
| But it pro | tects me like a | shell | |
| | G | A | D | A | Bmin |
| It's something | I could never | sell | | |
| | C | A | D | G | D | G | D | G | C | G |
| Comfortable | things can fit too well. | | | | | | | | |
| |
| Now please don't tell me only dark days lie ahead; |
| |
| 'cause if I can't feel hope, then I cannot feel dread. |
| |
| And please don't say to me that I can only win; |
| |
| If I can't cry, then I can't grin. |
© Copyright 2004 Aaron Bentley
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Questions, comments or suggestions about this web site? Email me at aaron.bentley@utoronto.ca