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No Provenance  Joanna Newsom

"NO PROVENANCE" by Joanna Newsom
[Cm]Alle[G]lu, [Bb]allel[Ab]u:
I have died happ[Cm]y,and li[G7]ved to t[Bb]ell the tale to [Ab]you.
I have slept for[Cm] forty y[G7]ears, and woke t[Bb]o find me gone.
I woke s[Eb]afe and [C7]warm in your arm[Ab]s.
In your [Eb]arms, [Bbm/Db]your arms, [Cm]in you[Eb]r a[Gm/D]rms
[Cm]Not info[G7]rmed of [Bb]the natural law,[Ab]
squatting, lordly, on a stool, in a stall, we spun gold clear out of straw.
And, when our bales of bullion were stored, you burned me like a barn.
I burned safe and warm in your arms.
In your [Eb]arms, [Bbm/Db]your arms
[Eb]I'm[Db] afraid of the [Cm]Big [F]Return.
There's a certain [Dm]conversation l[Gm]ost, and[A] that los[D]s incurred
with nob[Dm]ody remaining to [G]register
[Eb]who had [Db]passed T[Cm]his way in the n[F]ight, in the middle of the
[Dm]night, ne[Gm]gating their gr[A]ace and their si[D]ght,
till onl[Dm]y I remember, or[Gm] mark,
how we h[Cm]ad our[G] talk: [Bb]We took our[Ab] ride,
[Cm]so that [G7]there wa[Bb]s no-one home,[Ab]
and the lights of Rome flickered and died.
And, what's more, I believe that you knew it, too;
I think you saw their flares, and kept me safely unawares, in your arms.
In your [Eb]arms, [Bbm/Db]your arms, [Cm]in you[Eb]r a[Gm/D]rms
[Cm]The gras[G7]s was ta[Bb]ll, and strung w[Ab]ith burrs,
I essayed that high sashay which,
in my mind, was my way; you hung behind, in yours.
Anyhow, she did not neigh.
I do not know what drew our eyes to hers;
that little black mare did not stir,
till I l[Eb]ay dow[Bbm/Db]n in your arms.
[(Eb]Poor[Db] ol[Cm]d d[F]ir[Dm]ty [G]li[A]tt[D]le[Dm] do[G)]g-size horse!--
swaying and wheezing,
as a matter of course;
swaying and wheezing,
as a matter of pride.
That poor old nag, not four palms wide,
had waited a long time,
coated in salt,
buckled like a ship run foul of the fence.
In the middle of the night,
she'd sprung up,
no provenance,
bearing the whites of her eyes.
And you, with your
'arrangement' with Fate,
nodded sadly at her lame assault
on that steady old gate, her faultlessly etiolated
[Cm]fishbell[G7]y-face; [Bb]the muzzle of a [Ab]ghost.
And, pretty Johnny Appleseed, via satellite feed,
tell us, who was it that you then loved the most?
Pretty Johnny Appleseed, leave a trail that leads
straight back down to the farm.
Lay me down safe and warm in your [Gm6/C]arms.

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A Ab Bb Bbm/Db C7 Cm D Db Dm Eb F G G7 Gm Gm/D Gm6/C
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