Chords for Sergio Mendes The Waters of March

_ [F] _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ [D] _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ [B] _ _ _ [G#m] _
_ _ _ [G] _ _ _ _ [F#] _
_ _ _ [F] _ _ _ _ [C#m] _
_ _ [Em] _ _ _ _ [B] _ _
A stick, a [E] stone, it's the end of the road.
It's the rest of the stone.
It's a [D#] little [B] alone.
It's a sliver [F] of glass.
It [B] is life.
[C#m] It's the sun.
It is night.
It [Em] is death.
It's a trap.
[B] It's a gun.
[E] The oak when [A] it blooms.
A [C#] fox in the brush.
The night in [Em] the wood.
The song of a [E] brush.
The wood when it burns.
_ [B] _ A cliff, [C#] a fall, a stretch, [Em] a lump.
It is [C#] nothing at [B] all.
It's golden glory.
It's the end [F] of the slope.
It's a beam.
It's a [G] void.
It's a hunch.
[B] It's a hope.
And the [C#m] riverbank [B] talks of the [C#] waters of March.
It's the end [Em] of the strain.
It's the joy [B] in your heart.
The foot, [D#] the ground, [B] the flesh and the [G#m] bone.
The feet of the [A] road, a slingshot [F#] stone.
A fish, [A] a [F#m] flash, a [C#] silvery glow.
A fight, [Em] a bet, the range [B] of a bow.
The bed [F#m] of the well, [B] the end [C#] of the line.
The dismay [Em] in the face.
It's a loss.
[F#m] It's a find.
A [G#m] spiff, [A] a spike, [B] a point, a [G#m] nail.
A tip, [Em] a drop, the end [G#m] of the tail.
A [C#m] truckload of bricks [F#m] in the [C#] soft morning light.
The [Em] sound of a shot in the bed of [B] the night.
A mile, [E] a must, [B] a thrust, [C#] a bump.
It's a burn, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's [B] the months.
The plan [E] of the house, the body in [C#] bed.
And the cloud [Em] that got stuck.
It's the mud, [D#m] it's the mud.
A float, [F#m] a drift, a flight, [C#] a wing, a hawk, [E] a [Em] quail.
The brown [B] and soft spring.
And the [F#m] riverbank talks of [B] the [C#] waters of March.
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your [B] heart.
_ _ [F] _ _ _ _ [D] _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ [G#] _
[B] _ _ [G#m] _ _ _ _ _ [G] _
_ _ [D#m] _ _ _ _ [B] _ [F] _
_ _ [C#m] _ _ _ _ [Em] _ _
_ _ [B] _ A snake, a [G#m] stick, it is John, it is Joe.
It's a bone in your [G] hand and a cut [F#] in your toe.
A point, [F#m] a grain, [C#] a bee, a bite, a blink, a [Em] buzzard, a sudden stroke of [B] night.
A [Bm] peasant, the mountains, a horse and [C#] a mule.
In the distance, the shelves load three shadows [B] of blue.
And the [Bm] riverbank talks of the waters [C#] of March.
It's the promise [Em] of life in your heart, in [B] your heart.
A stick, [A] a stone, the end of [G#m] the load.
The ash of [G] a [C#] log, a [F#] lonesome road.
A sliver [F] of glass, a life, [E] the sun, a night, a death.
[B] The end of the run.
And the [A] riverbank talks of the [C#] waters of March.
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy [B] in your _ _ _ [E] _ _
heart.
_ [F] _ _ _ [Em] _ _ _ _ _ [B] _ _ _ _ _
_ _ [G#m] _ _ [C#] _ _ [Em] _ _
_ _ _ [C#m] _ _ _ [Bm] _ _
_ _ [G#m] _ _ [C#] _ _ _ [Em] _
_ _ [B] _ _ _ _ _ [N] _