| F | C | Bb | C | |
| x4 |
| F | |
| You can say the soul is gone |
| Dm/G | |
| And the | feelings just not there |
| Bb | C | F | C | Bb | C | |
| Not like it | was so long a | go |
| F | |
| On the | empty page before you |
| Dm/G | |
| You can | fill in what you care |
| Bb | C | F | C | Bb | C | |
| Try to make it | good before you | go |
| Take the simple case of the sarge |
| Who wouldn't go back to war |
| Because the hippies tore down every - |
| Thing that he was fighting for |
| Or the lovers on the blanket |
| The city turned to whores |
| With memories of green kissed by the sun |
| You can say the soul is gone |
| And close another page |
| Just be sure that yours is not the one |
| F | C | Bb | C |
| Bb | F | |
| And I'm | singing for the | stringman |
| Bb | F | |
| Who | lately lost his | wife |
| Bb | Dm | |
| There | is no dearer | friend of mine |
| C | F | |
| That | I know in this | life |
| On his shoulder is a violin |
| For his head where chaos reigns |
| But his heart can't find a simple way |
| To live with all those things |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| All those | things |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| He's a | stringman |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| A | stringman |
| F | C | Bb | C |
| F | |
| All those | strings to pull |
| F | C | Bb | C | |
| x4 |