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Tuning: E A D G B E
This is a spoken word poetry piece, meaning these chords are just background music. The chords have been placed explicitly where they are played in the original song in correlation with the lyrics. NOTE: Em7 = [0 2 2 0 3 3] [Intro] Em7 C Bm Em [Verse]
There’s Am7 billion 46 million people on the planet And most of us have the audacity to think we matter CHeDy, you Em7hear the one about the comedian who croaked? C
Someone stabbed him in the heart, just a little poke
But he keeled oBmver ‘cause he went into battle wearing chain mail made Emof jokes AmHey, you hear the one about the screenwriter who passed away? He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got stuck halfway C He enDded up eating Em7smushed sandwiches they pushed through a crack in the Cdoor
And repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about talking dogs 'til his last day
Hey, Bmyou hear the one about the fisherman who passed? Em He didn’t jump Amoff that ledge
He just stepped out into the air and pulled the ground up towards him really fast
Like he was pitching a line and went fishing for conCcrete D The earthEm7 is a drum and he’s hitting it onC beat
The reason there’s smog in Los Angeles is ‘cause if we could see the stars
If we could see the contextBm of the universe in which we exist And we could see Emhow small each Amone of us is
Against the vastness of what we don’t know
No one would ever audition for a McDonalds commercial aCgain DAnd then whereEm7 would we be? No frozen Cdinners and no TV
And is that a world we want to text in? Either someone just microwaved popcorn
Or I hear theBm sound of a thousand people pulling their heads out of their Emasses in rapid sucAmcession The people are hunched over in Boston
They’re starting app stores and screen printing companies in San Francisco
They’re grinCning in Los AnDgeles like they’ve Em7got fishhooks in the corners of their mouth ButC don’t paint me like the good guy ‘cause every time I write I get to choose the angle that you view me and select the nBmicest light You wouldn’t respect me if you heEmard the typewriter chatterAm tap tap
Tapping through my mind at night The same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue
And tattered memories of a girl I Cgot to grind Don in highEm7 school Filed carefully on rice pCaper
My heart is a colored pencil But my brain is an eraser
I don’t want a real girl, I want to trace her from aBm catalogue Truth be told EmI’m unlikely to hold Amyou down
Cause my soul is a crowded subway train And people keep deciding to get on the next one that rolls through town
I’m joining aC false moveDment in San Em7Francisco I’m frowning and hunched over Cin Boston
I’m smiling in Los Angeles like I’ve got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth
And I’m celebrating Bmon weekends Because there are 7 bilEmlion 47 Ammillion people on the planet
And I have the audacity to think I matter
I know it’s a lie but I prefer it to the alternaCtive Because I’ve got Da tourniEm7quet tied at my elbow I’ve got a blunt wrap Cfilled with compliments and I’m burnin it You say to go to sleep but I been bouncing off my bedroom walls since I was heBmcka small We’re every age at once and tuEmcked inside ourselves like Russian Amnesting dolls
My mother is an 8 year old girl My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed
And that’s Cthe glue beDtween me and Em7you That’s the screws and nails We live in Ca house made of each other
And if that sounds strange that’s because it is
Someone Bmplease freeze time so I can run around turning Emeveryone’s pockets inAmside out And remember...
You didn’t see shit [Outro] C D Em7 C Bm Em Am C D Em7 C Bm Em Am