The Thirty-Third Of August

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Well, today there's no salvation,     the band's packed up and gone,
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  left me standin'   with a penny in my hand.
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There's a big crowd at the station   where a blind man sings his songs
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  and he can see   what I can't understand.

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It's the thirty-third of August and I'm finally touchin' down,
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  eight days from Sunday, Lord,   I'm Saturday-bound.

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Once I stumble through the darkness,     tumble to my knees,
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  a thousand voices   screamin' through my brain.
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  Woke up in the squad car,   busted down for vagrancy,
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and outside my cell,   sure as hell,   it looked like rain.

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It's the thirty-third of August and I'm finally touchin' down,
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  eight days from Sunday, Lord,   I'm Saturday-bound.

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Now I put my angry feelin'     under lock and chain,
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  I hide my violent nature with a smile.
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Though the demons dance and sing their songs   within my fevered brain,
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not all my God-like thoughts, Lord, are defiled.

         D               D              D                A        A
It's the thirty-third of August and I'm finally touchin' down,
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  eight days from Sunday, Lord,   I'm Saturday-bound.

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         D               D              D                A        A
It's the thirty-third of August and I'm finally touchin' down,
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  eight days from Sunday, Lord,   I'm Saturday-bound.

Cifra adaptada de fontes públicas. Direitos da composição pertencem aos autores e gravadoras originais. Esta página é parte do projeto educacional Mania de Músico.