Sleeping At Last - Atlas one

^AmHold on for a m^Ginute, ‘cause I ^Cbelieve that we can^G fix this ov^Fer time, That e^Gvery imperf^Cection is a^F lie. Or at ^Gleast an int^Cerruption Now h^Amold on, let me fi^Gnish. No, I'm not saying pe^Crfect exists i^Gn this life ^F But we'll on^Cly know for cer^Gtain if we t^Cry.

^FI,^C I want to s^Ging a song worth si^Cnging, ^FI,^C I'll write an a^Gnthem worth ^Amrepeating. ^FI,^C want to f^Geel the transfo^Crmation, ^{F C G}Melody of refor^Cmation.

But the l^Amist goes on for^Cever, of all the ^Gways I could be ^Cbetter, in m^Fy mind. As if ^GI could earn God's fa^Cvor given t^Fime. Or at l^Geast "Congratul^Cations” Now, ^AmI have learned my l^Gesson; the price of t^Chis so-called perfe^Gction is every^Fthing. I've s^Ampent my w^Ghole life sea^Crching desperat^Fely To find that g^Amrace re^Gquires n^Fothing of m^Ce.

^FI,^C I want to s^Ging a song worth si^Cnging, ^FI,^C I'll write an a^Gnthem worth ^Amrepeating. ^FI,^C want to f^Geel the transfo^Crmation, ^{F C G}Melody of refor^Ammation.

I'll h^Fold it all more lo^Cosely, and yet ^Gsomehow much more^C dearly, ‘Cause I've s^Fpent my w^Chole life searching^G desperately ^C To find that ^Amgrace req^Cuires nothing,^{G Am}Grace re^Cquires n^Gothing of ^Cme.