^AmIn nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters, we write letters ^AmWe put down in writing what is happening in our minds ^AmOnce it's on the paper, we feel better, we feel better ^AmIt's like some kind of clarity when the letter's done and signed

^AmDear Andrey ^AmDear old friend, how goes the war? ^AmDo we march on the French splendidly? ^AmDo our cannons crack and cry? ^AmDo our bullets whistle and sing? ^AmDoes the air reek with smoke? ^AmI wish I were there, ith death at my heels ^AmDolokhov is recovering, he will be all right, the good man ^AmAnd Natasha is in town, your bride to be, so full of life and ^Dmmischief ^DmI should visit ^DmI hear she is more beautiful than ^Amever ^AmHow I envy you and your happiness

^AmHere at home I drink and read ^E7and drink^Am and read and drink ^E7But I think I've finally found it, what my heart has needed For ^AmI've been studying the ^EbdimKabal And I've c^Bbdimalculated the number of the b^Bmeast It is Na^Fdimpoleon! ^F#m Six hundred ^Cdimthree score and ^C#msix And I will ^Gdimkill him one ^G#mday He's no great ^Ddimman None of ^Ebdimus are great ^Adimmen We're caught in the ^Bbmwave of ^Edimhistory Nothing ^Fmmatters ^BdimEverything ^Cmmatters It's all the ^F#dimsame Oh, if ^Gmonly I could not ^C#dimsee "it" This ^Dmdreadful, terrible ^G#dim"it"

^AmIn nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters, we write letters ^AmWe put down in writing, what is happening in our minds

^AmDear Andrey— ^AmWhat more can I write after all that has happened? ^AmWhat am I to do if I love him and the other one too? ^AmMust I break it off? ^AmThese terrible questions

^AmI see nothing but the candle in the mirror ^AmNo visions of the future, so lost and alone

And ^Dmwhat of Princess Mary? ^DmDear Natasha ^DmI am in deep despair at the ^E7misunder^Amstanding there is between us ^E7What^Aever my father's feelings mig^E7ht ^Ambe ^E7I b^Dmeg you to believe that I ^A7can^Dmnot help loving you^{A7 Dm}He is a tired old man and must be ^E7for^Amgiven Please, ^E7come see us again^E7b9

^E7Dear Princess ^E7b9Mary— Oh, ^E7what am I to ^E7b9write! How do I ^E7choose? What do I ^E7b9do? I shall never be happy again

These ^Amterrible ^Ebdimquestions I'm ^Emso a^Bbdimlone here ^BmSo a^Fdimlone in ^F#mhere And I see ^Cdimnothing I see ^C#mnothing but the ^G#7candle in the ^C#mmirror No ^G#7visions of the ^C#mfuture So ^G#7lost and a^C#mlone ^G#dim7

In ^Amnineteenth-century Russia, we w^E7rite ^Amletters We write letters ^{E7 Am}We put down in writing What ^E7is ^Amhappening in our minds

De^E7ar ^AmNatalie A ^Dm/Alove letter A ^G#dim7/Alove letter A ^Amlove letter

^AmA letter from him, from the man that I love ^AmA letter which I composed ^AmA love letter ^AmA love letter...

^AmNatalie, Natalie, Natalie ^AmI must love you or die ^AmNatalie, Natalie, Natalie ^AmIf you love me, say yes ^AmAnd I will come and steal you away ^AmSteal you out of the dark ^AmNatalie, Natalie, Natalie ^AmI want nothing more ^AmNatalie, Natalie, Natalie ^AmI must love you or die ^AmNatalie, Natalie, Natalie ^AmIf you love me, say yes ^AmAnd I will come and steal you away ^AmSteal you out of the dark ^AmNatalie, Natalie, Natalie

^AmI want nothing more ^AmJust say yes ^AmJust say yes ^AmJust say yes

^DmYes, ^Bbyes, I ^Flove him ^A7/C#How else could I^Dm have his ^Bbletter in my ^Fhand? I read it ^C7twenty times ^C#dim7Thirty times, forty times! ^DmEach and ^Cevery ^Bbword I ^C7love him, I love ^A7him