| D | |
| I have | lightning |
| G | D | |
| If the | stars dry out to | guide me |
| I have soft clay |
| G | D | |
| To | knit my bones as | tride |
| F#7 | |
| What a | miracle they say |
| Bm | |
| Dark clouds | gather |
| F# | |
| Velvet holes |
| G | |
| Gaping | wide oh |
| D | |
| And they | pour it down |
| G | |
| And they s | ing to me |
| D | |
| Of | wonders |
| G | |
| Un | seen |
| F# | |
| Like | clouds that rise |
| G | |
| From the s | ea, oh |
| D | |
| And I'm | sorry |
| G | |
| I'm so | sorry |
| D | |
| That I | missed the point |
| G | |
| Of this pa | geantry |
| D | |
| But I'm | grateful |
| G | Bm7 | D | |
| That | you l | ove | me |