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Free Four  Pink Floyd

      The [G]memories of a man in his o[C]ld age are the [D]deeds of a man in his [G]prime.
You shuffle in gloom in the [C]sickroom and [D]talk to yourself till you [G]die.
      Life is a short, warm [C]moment and [D]death is a long cold [G]rest.
You get your chance to try in the [C]twinkling of an eye:
[D]Eighty years, with luck, or even [G]less.
      So all aboard for the A[C]merican tour, and [D]maybe you'll make it to the [G]top.
And mind how you go, and I can [C]tell you, 'cause I know.
You [D]may find it hard to get [G]off.
      [B]   [Bsus4]       [B]   [G]   [A]   [B]   [Bsus4]       [B]   [G]   [A] [G]      [G]You are the angel of [C]death and [D]I am the dead man's [G]son.
And he was buried like a mole in a [C]fox hole.
And [D]everyone is still on the [G]run.
      And who is the master of [C]fox hounds?
And [D]who says the hunt has beg[G]un?
And who calls the tune in the co[C]urtroom?
And [D]who beats the funeral [G]drum?
      The memories of a man in his o[C]ld age are the [D]deeds of a man in his [G]prime.
You shuffle in gloom in the [C]sickroom and [D]talk to yourself till you [G]die.
      [B]   [Bsus4]       [B]   [G]   [A]   [B]   [Bsus4]       [B]   [G]   [A] [G] 

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