D D D D / Dm Dm Dm Dm

D
he’s out in the woods with his squirrel gun
Dm
to try and recapture his anger
G
he’s screaming some words at the top of his lungs
Em A
until he begins to feel younger
F#dim Em
but back at his desk in the city we find
F#dim Em
our trembling punch – drunken fighter
B7 Em B7 Em
who can’t find the strength now to punish the length
G A
of the ribbon in his little typewriter

*
G A
poor fractured atlas
A D
threw himself across the mattress
G A
waving his withering pencil
A D
as if it were a pirate’s cutlass
Dm C G
i’m almost certain
A# A D
he’s trying to increase his burden
Em B7 Em A
he said “that’s how the child in me planned it ,
A7 D A C G A# A . . .
a woman wouldn’t understand it”

i believe there was something that i wanted to say
before i conclude this epistle
but you would forgive me for holding my tongue
’cause man made the blade and the pistol
yes , man made the waterfall over the dam
to temper his tantrum with magic
now you can’t be sure of that tent of azure
since he punched a hole in the fabric

G A
poor fractured atlas
A D
threw himself across the mattress
G A
waving his withering pencil
A D
as if it were a pirate’s cutlass
Dm C G
i’m almost certain
A# A D
he’s trying to increase his burden
Em B7 Em A
he said “that’s how the child in me planned it ,
A7 D A C G A# A . . .
a woman wouldn’t understand it”
D A D A7 D A C G A# A D A D . . .
a woman wouldn’t understand it