| C | F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| She c | ame and she | touched | me w | ith | hands made of | hea | ven |
| Em | F | C | |
| Refl | ections sent sp | innin' through a face laced in m | ist. |
| F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| Now I stand where she | left | me bu | ried | deep 'neath her | sh | ad | ow |
| Em | F | C | |
| And m | irror pleads s | adly has it all come to t | his? |
| G | F | G | G7 | |
| And I | wonder, will she | call my n | ame? |
| C | F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| Where the w | ind careens | mad | ly t | hrough | wide windows | panel | ess |
| Em | F | C | |
| Fragrances m | ingle in a room full of | shade |
| F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| The peons pick | partn | ers | and w | altz 'cross the | cei | ling |
| Em | F | C | |
| But the v | iolins w | hisper, "have I been betr | ayed?" |
| G | F | G | G7 | |
| Tryin' not to l | ook as | hamed. |
| C | F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| Where the d | runkards drink | dee | ply | from | cups full of no | th | in' |
| Em | F | C | |
| It's | ghost-lover's l | augh at the games that they | play |
| F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| While the moments do | summ | ers | aults | into et | er | ni | ty |
| Em | F | C | |
| Cling to their c | oat-tails and beg them to s | tay |
| G | F | G | G7 | |
| Sayin', " I got n | othin' to h | ide". |
| C | F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| Where i | llusions proj | ect | ed | on w | alls made of t | if | fa | ny |
| Em | F | C | |
| Mad minu | ets to a sad satin s | ong |
| F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| The harlequin m | and | ol | ins | harmonize h | elple | ssly |
| Em | F | C | |
| Hoping that e | ndlessly won't last for | long |
| G | F | G | G7 | |
| Prayin' that their g | od ain't d | ied. |
| C | F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| Then I t | urn and I s | ee | her | in a dr | ess made of | moonl | ight |
| Em | F | C | |
| Teardrops like d | iamonds slide slow down her f | ace |
| F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| And her arms they surr | ound | me l | ike c | hains made of | vel | vet |
| Em | F | C | |
| And the | demons fall f | aithfully into their p | lace |
| G | F | G | G7 | |
| And the r | ivers | run with j | ewels. |
| C | F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| Now the m | orning lies | ope | n, t | he n | ight went quite | quick | ly |
| Em | F | C | |
| Memory ha | rmlessly fractures and f | ades |
| F | C | G | C | F | C | G | |
| All the poets do p | ush- | ups | on c | arpets of | rubb | er f | oam |
| Em | F | C | |
| Loudly they l | augh at some joke that's been m | ade |
| G | F | G | G7 | |
| And the w | ise men s | peak like | fools. |