|- The little hands of asphalt - Love song for young novelists -|

I think it's in Am on the recording i heard so

Capo 5




Em         F      C           G
Count the days, decisions are boring

so i fold them up, and tuck Them away

i like you now, but who knows in the morning

When the alcohol, has fled the brain.


When i get off work, i need new words to vage war on

So let's meet outside the library doors

I'll trade you a notebook and some fresh oxymorons

for the smiles that tend to throw me of course.

Dm             C               E                 Am  
      G
Couse now your just not making sense, my dearest friend under the lens
Dm         G              C             E        
Am        G
i got it wrong this time, i found better ways of changing my mind

There still nothing wrong with love,

it's just stuck in traffic not thinking of

The day it will change lanes, but there is only one

thing that stays the same so i propose a toast to change.


When spring hits town, let's go out to the islands

To work on our postapocolyptic skills

i found a thing that might just keep us on dry land

my raw affection for you is soon this thing


As my maps unfurl don't always be pretty

their polar opposites in light and sound

your the brightest burn in this whole city

and i was the darkest boy around


So once the right corrections made

you roll your eyes in my cell and mates

why choose different trails

on our quest for pure empty taste


For now let's round up our regrets and our imaginary pets

and play the same old games but give them new and better names

i know you like inventing names