Berlin Syndrome

Bm Found you outside on the platform Am You'd been crying for all the tricks F# and all the lying And all the miles away from home you were Am And the ticket inspector here, C F# he doesn't recognise me Am He's remembered every face C F# he's seen since 1963 Bm Well, fine, f**k it, I don't care, Am I don't care anymore Anyway, it's not like anyone here's F# keeping a score Between me and the German fucking rail step Am So we hit the Autobahns back south C F# to the border of town Am To the red flags of Schaffhausen C F# where the cowbell key rings out Bm And if the devil loves details, Am then godliness floats in the vague F# And I can't remember how I felt at that stage Though I'm pretty sure that I was in love with you Am And you picked your favourite saint C F# And bought an ashtray in her name Am From the gift shop by the lake C F# That bled blue rivers full of rain Bm And truth was stretched like clingfilm Am Over a jar of the kind F# they have by the Autobahns And I pissed on my own shoes for what seemed like hours Am And word junk caught like cooties C F# from your mother tongue Am With the upspeak of a faker, C F# in other words I left unsung Bm But you were so young Am and I was old enough to know These things never turn out F# how you had supposed When you are exchanging your final monologues Am So as I left you in the lobby C F# I set my Walkman down on your knee Am I'd imagined it romantic, C F# like Troilus' new sleeve Bm Since then you just make cameos Am when I'm asleep You're the William Shatner F# of this elite genre of Women that I have loved and lost Am But with Facebook, hope and Myspace C F# I could find you in a key stroke Am But for effers and the likelihood C F# you'd have found another bloke