Port Of Morrow

Intro

F G E F
F G E Am
F G E F
F E
F G
Dm              A
Through the rain and all the clatter
F          C       G
Under the Fremont bridge I saw a pigeon fly
Dm          F               C                A
Fly in fear from the raptor come to take its life
Dm                A
And as it closed in for the capture
F     C         G
I funnelled the fear through my ancient eyes
Dm              F
To see in flight, what I know are
    C                   A
The bitter mechanics of life
F        G                   E             F
Under my hat it reads "the lines are all imagined"
F         G              E                   Am
A fact of life I know to hide from my little girls
F          G                E                F
I know my place amongst the bugs and all the animals
F                     E
And it's from these ordinary people
         F            G
You are longing to be free
Dm        A
My hotel and on the TV
F    C          G
A preacher on the stage like a buzzard cries
Dm                F                   C              A
Our a warning of phony sorrow. He's trying to get a rise.
Dm           A
The cyanide of an almond
F           C         G
Let him look at your hands, get the angles right
Dm               F              C                A
Ace of spades, Port of Morrow, life is death is life.
F            G         E         F
I saw a photograph; Cologne in '27
F            G                E            Am
And then a postcard after the bombs in '45
F                 G             E                  F
Must have been a world of evil clowns that let it happen
F           E
But now I recognise, dear listeners,
              F                G
That you were there and so was I
Dm  F
Dm  C  A
Dm  F  C A
F        G               E              F
Under my hat I know the lines are all imagined
F          G              E                Am
A fact of life I must impress on my little girls
F           G               E                F
I know my place amongst the creatures in the pageant
F              E
And there are flowers in the garbage
         F             G
And a skull under your curls
Dm  F
Dm  C  A
Dm  F  C  A