When The Poet Sings

C Am upon the autumn streets when the city is away C Am on some lonesome quest for winter C Am the man who sings his poems unravels his display C Am and the neon spectrums turn to splinters C Am and the nights are cold sometimes, but never for his pages C Am they don't sway against this wilderof the stage C Am and the ageless battle cries I unearthed from my eyes C Am no longer writhe because the singing poet is wise F G they said that love of mine won't wither Em G that time will bring a treasure trove of things F G and the shadows now are just a sliver Em but still it stings F but it doesn't matter C when the poet sings C Am under the smoky chimes of roll up cigarettes and rhymes C Am beneath the ponds of makeshift filters C Am he told me that my sorries were really not worth their weight sometimes C Am and it was best to let them wither C Am and though I've sung and rung those bells of innocence undone C Am with the side of the sun C Am but within his song I sail amongst the sounds where sunlight fell C Am when my experience begun C Am C and when I'm weather-worn the virtues of my mind have torn away C Am and no such sounds won't stray F G and if I keep my sorries they'll not wither Em G and time will bring a treasure trove of things F G and the shadows now are just a sliver Em but still it stings F but it doesn't matter C when the poet sings C Am and when this drifting debutante Madonna's come of age C Am and her days of youth are over C Am C she and I will both surmise that the poet's song will brush aside this man Am just as the infant's sorrows hold her C Am and on the day that I am slayed and by the colors of my mind betrayed C Am on the silence of the stage C Am the poet's song will set apart and turn to flames my weary rungs C Am and set my phenomenons ablaze F G he said my charming death would wither Em G and time would bring a treasure trove of things F G and the shadows now are just a sliver Em but still it stings F but it doesn't matter C when the poet sings