D
G
A
D
G
A
D
G
A
D
G
A
D
G
A
D
G
A
Dreams, inconsistent angel things. Horses bred with star-laced
D
G
A
Bm
A
G
wings. But it’s so hard to make them fly, fly, fly.
D
G
A
D
G
These wings beat the night sky ?bove the town. One goes up and
A
D
G
A
Bm
A
G
one goes down. And so the chariot hits the ground, bound, bound.
Em
D
G
We have forgotten (don’t try to make me fly) how it used to be
Em
D
G
(I’ll stay here, I’ll be fine). How it used to be (don’t go and
Em
D
let me down), how it used to be (I’m starting to like this town).
G
D
Em
Bm
A
