Sleeping At Last - Clockwork

^C#There is glass be^Fmtween our touch, ^C#phantom limbs of ^Fmformer love... ^F#and the truth ^Fmis that ^F#I am ^Fmso terr^Ebmified ^C#

^C#that the callous is ^Fmdeeper than ^C#the surface ^Fmof our s^F#kin ^F#and it takes ^Fmus twice as ^F#long, it takes^Fm us twice as ^Ebmlong to heal^C#.

^C#we'll lift up the ^Fmground to see ^C#the system of ^Fmroots ben^F#eath. gears t^Fmurn, endless^F#ly, to bring the ^Fmworld back to ^F#life like clock^Ebmwork, when it ^C#dies.

^C#the cadence of ^Fmbeating hearts, ^C#the click of its ^Fmmoving parts ^F#grows louder and ^Ebmlouder ^F#from this ^Fmrestless ^F#earth...

^Fmfuture gar^F#dens wait pa^Fmtiently ^F#below and some^Fmhow we smell ^F#them blo^Ebmssom through the ^C#snow.

^C#still uns^Fmatisfied, ^C#we chase what ^Fmwe're denied. ^C#as gene^Fmrations wait, ^C#we can't re^Fmsist the ^F#taste of ^Fmpossibility. ^F#gears ^Fmturn, endlessl^F#y, to bring us ^Fmback to life ^F#again. like clock^Ebmwork, we b^C#egin.