Chords for Deadpoets. - If Our History Is Not As Whole, There's A Hole In His Story

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[D] When winter's hands come around again and reach for the trees, to choke them of their
strength and steal away their [G] leaves, is that a moment that we can transpose to our [A] own
selves and our own woes, or are we so different that those [Bm] trees are so alone?
We are all falling trees in an empty room with nobody around, with nobody [G] around to
hear us make a sound, and that in itself speaks volumes [A] of the human condition, and we are
[Bm] constantly surrounded by each other, yet still something is missing.
It took me two years and one month to [G] work this out for myself, what it truly [A] means to
stay in sickness and in hell.
[Bm] But it's not all sicknesses of our bodies, and it's so much more than just feeling melancholy,
and [G] that overwhelming feeling of regret, that [A] infection in flesh, and no matter how hard
we try to pull [Bm] ourselves out, we digress and regress into a deeper mess.
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[Bm] _ Rampant times, _ _ you get lost down [G] in those dire [A] old bars. _ _
[Bm] _ Rampant times, [F#m] you become the memory, [G] you make the hell _ [A] _ _ _ _
[Bm] out of your name.
It's our freedom, it's our bodies, we're [G] the free disposition [A] to make us lovers.
[Bm] Are we not the same, like a dustbin, a sub-unit, [G] still not the one, [A] but the one for us?
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[G] Creating life has no purpose, it's that life you find yourself lost at an intersection,
and you aren't there to help or find direction.
It's about your connection, and somehow that always seems to go unmentioned.
[A] And it's beyond [Bm] definition, but still deserves your recognition.
But when we forget the power that a handshake, a hug, or even a smile can give, then we've
already made the wrong decision.
Like a voluntary insistent [G] euro-risk, a self-made symbol of another opportunity missed.
And in that instance, somewhere in that missed chance, you've taken the wrong turn, through
a voluntary hurt and disappointment.
[F#m] And we wear it on our faces like the bad [Bm] boys, there is no likeness.
And it has to be nothing, it has to be [D] nothing, because our mind's well suffering somehow. _ _ _ _ _
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