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Dm If even David's hollowed out then god Am F There must be a kind of magic to the way they break you down Gm Am Bb Tired and overrun on the weekend you caught the sun Dm Am Dm There must be a kind of magic to the way they break you Dm And listening to the pigeons as you lay Am F Tallying the sleeping hours left until the waking day Gm Am Bb Groveling to forget some second to last regret Dm Am Dm Passing by the golden clock upon the golden balcony C F Bb Has it all been a long con C F Bb Capital as a real god C F Bb Bear it all as an old dog C F Bb Capital as a real god Dm Brighton in the wind strikes you and then Am F Carrying the best belongings up and down the station steps Gm Am Bb To meet on summer's green, oh I know the flats you mean Dm Am Dm There must be a kind of magic to the way we stay true C F Bb Has it all been a long con C F Bb Capital as a real god C F Bb Bear it all as an old dog C F Bb Capital as a real god Dm Bb F
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