SAINT VALENTINE - Gregory Alan Isakov

 capo on third fret

C F C G (x2)

F                      C                    G               C
Well Grace she is gone she's a half written poem
F                   C                    G                Am    G
She went out for cigarettes and never came home
F                          C                  G                 Am
And I swallowed the sun and screamed and wailed
F                     C                          G              C
Straight down to the dirt so I could find her trail
F                   E                  C
Spread out cross the great divine

Well I just came to talk Saint Valentine
I never pictured you living here 
With the rats and the vines
Ain't that my own heart
Hanging out on the line?
Oh you're all fucked up
Saint Valentine

Now I circle the bars on the promenade
While the girls in the glass they're just throwing me shades
And I'm saving my coins up for jingle and jane

While she's out plucking strings in the pouring pouring
She's out plucking strings in the pouring rain

See I'm all crooked feet Saint Valentine
I've circled this map till they've gone on fire

Now Grace she has left you just skin and bones
Well you hang up your hat 
But you can't call it home
Well you've tried and you've tried
But you can't call it home

You're the loneliest one Saint Valentine
You're the loneliest one Saint Valentine
Well you're all fucked up
Saint Valentine