キー: F minor
Verse 1
I wrote a song to help me hide it.
I took it to my publishers,
with a piece of me inside it.
They'll take it to some record man,
and he'll say the bridge is loose,
and the lyric needs some work.
And we've got no one to do this number anyway,
so good day.
And like a fountainhead of sorrow,
that has no place for flowing,
C
Em
The part of me that lingers there,
will have no field for growing,
And we'll die there on some dusty shelf
In the subtle suffocation
of the part of me I gave
And then soon I'll write a song
the way the others do
And then I'll be dead too
And like a fire slowly dying,
as one by one the embers blacken,
I miss the pieces of myself
that no one ever warmed
themselves beside.
Another draggy week before me,
and somewhere a song will find me.
I'll slice another piece of heart,
and leave it there behind me.
But perhaps I'll write a hit this year,
and you'll know me well.
I'll have my name there
and that's where I'll be
In parentheses
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