Tabbed by:mmmmetalcore

Tuning:E A D G B E

               F5
She called him Felix
             A5
Which meant 'lucky' to her
D5                                C5
   He was a middle-distance runner
Bb5                           A5
She didn't take him seriously
                   Bb5                     C5
But shifted in her seat when he walked by

               F5
He thought her plain
    A5                 D5
But sensual in some way
                                  C5            Bb5 A5
She licked the corner of her mouth thoughtfully
                              Bb5 C5
Wore her skirts above the knee

   F5                                A5                         D5
He told her a story about a pair of green and gold yarn gloves
                    C5
That he'd been given
                       Bb5
It was a sting of recognition
                  A5                       Bb5
She realized he'd given those gloves to her
                        C5                         F5  A5
When he left it had the feel of a little tradition

     Bb5
Lash solitude to the wind

But when you leave again
                                 F5 A5
Leave something of you with them
         Bb5
Tie your fishing lines to the fence posts
                                F5  A5
And do your best to reel them in

           Bb5
The candle flickers
                               D5     C5
You measure morals by unsturdy things
     Bb5                        C5
Tear leaves off of the sycamore
                               D5
Pin down the butterfly's wings

   F5                              A5
"I never knew it got this cold in August
                D5
Here in Tuscon"
                    C5
"Only in the evening
                                  Bb5
There's nothing here to hold the heat
                 A5
The sun goes down
                         Bb5 C5
It floats off and is lost

   F5
Anyway, you've got a jacket
        A5                          D5
Tell me where you got that necklace"
                     C5
He looked across the parking lot
                             Bb5
At the path under the highway
                          A5                               Bb5
At the mouth of it a man slung bags of cans across his back
                   C5
He coughed, and he turned back to the table

    F5                     A5                      D5
She told him a story of a hand embroidered pillow
                 C5
She'd been given
                            Bb5
It was with a sting of recognition
                  A5                   Bb5
He realized she'd given him that pillow
                         C5                         F5
When she left it had the feel of a little tradition

So lash solitude to the wind
But when you leave again
Leave something of you with the
Tie your fishing lines to fence posts
And do your best to reel them in

The candle flickers
You measure morals by unsturdy things
Tear leaves off of the sycamore
And pin down the butterfly's wings