The Poets Dead

D F# G F# D It's not just that I was scared back then, I was scared of when F# G F# A You'd finally realize what I hide inside F# G D A soul that has hurt and cried through cheats and lies F# G D I'm sorry dear, but that's behind these longing eyes D G F# F# D G F# F# D F# G F# D Given how much time you spend equating your own head F# G F# A You really shoulda known by now what it takes to love F# G D For you I will bite my tongue and hold you if you need someone F# G G The poetry, it's in your head, it's in your head F# G The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead F# D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead F# G F# D Darling let's take the time to evolve past F# G F# A These nervous laughs, be comfortable through our silences F# G F# D Like a scientist with his experiments F# G D Just waiting on reactions on reactions D G F# F# D G F# F# D F# G D Like all of us socialists, born to hope, raised to fail F# G F# A Like all of us socialists, born to hope, raised to fail F# G D I'll dress up in my western wear, you'll dress like you don't care F# G G The poetry, it's in your head, it's in your head F# G The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead F# A The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead G D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead F# G The poetry is in your head. It's in your... D F# G F# D It's not just that I was scared back then, I was scared of when F# G F# D You'd finally realize what I hide inside F# G F# D I'll dress up in my western wear, you'll dress like you don't care F# G G The poetry, it's in your head, it's in your head F# G The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead F# A The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead G D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead F# G D The poetry is in your head. It's in your head G F# D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead G F# D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead G F# D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead G F# D The poetry is in your head, though the poet's dead