Am G It was a sunday in east Berlin i chanced upon a marketAm i though how love or lack thereof matched the coins in my pocketG but thats ok i have no pay im happy all the sameAm to look through a box of broken clocks and old Atari gamesC G Am and racks of army uniforms of both the west and eastC G Am and postcards sent to people who were long ago deceasedAm G a plastic orange comb left over from the GDRAm and in a nook behind some books an old parlour guitarAm G it was sat upon a wooden packing crate that had been flippedAm and if the chance the cursory glance youd call it non descriptG but i double took i stopped to look and its just one of those thingsAm i do when at a loss i reached across and lightly brushed the stringsC G Am the sound both deep and ancient came up from the hole beneathC G Am the kind that comes from timber given in to times bequethedC G Am enough for me to wonder i put up my hand to haleC Em Am the vendor of the table just to ask... if its for sale [Break]Am G well he had a chin with whiskers in and in between his lipsAm he held a cigarette he hadnt lit i took him for a gypsyG he stooped and bent and complimented me on my selectionAm to my surprise within his eyes i saw my own reflectionC G Am i dont him im not buying im just interested to knowC G Am so i thought how love or lack thereof matched my fiscal flowC G Am he asked me for my name and when he handed it to meC Em Am he said it undignified to talk of money... before history [Break] and then he said....Am G if you hold it right up to the light in pencil can be seenAm the signature of the luthier and the date 1918G but sir have you got the certificate of authenticityAm he said whats the point when you can get the story straight from meAm G a russian commander first saw it in a shop window in munichAm he was on a stroll and felt the roll of deutchmarks in his tunicG he bought it on a whim and to his friend the commisarAm said if i survive this war alive ill learn to play guitarC G Am he had one final 7 week assignment with his unitG Am and im sad to say he was blown away before he learned to tune it[Break]Am G it was sent back to his greiving widow with the rest of his effectsAm and it languished there under the stair right where the dust collectsG but there came a day when she passed away as well and without kinAm so through her stash and it was labelled trash and put out with the binC G Am it was only sitting on that lonely street in LeningradC G Am for an hour or two before being rescued up by a young ladG he was on the hop afraid to stop for long for fear of prisonAm a balchevik who had been made awefully sick by communismC G Am he was disenchanted by the practice of the party schemeC G Am how it proved all men are equal seemed to be a tad extremeC G Am he walked down by the baltic sea and there he hopped a freigterC Em Am and not a word was heard from him again... until many years later [Break]Am G the old man stopped to rest and get his breath and his eyes they started glazingAm over i told him this story was both trajic and amazingG oh dont stop now i must know how this ends and please be quickAm do you know whht became of this mutanous balchevik? [Break]G well the old gyspy looked back at me and his eyes they seemed to clearAm he said in 34 he went ashore in the city of TangierG but he came undone as hed become from all those years at seaAm addicted to, as sailors do, port wine and gin rummyC G Am and one night in a game in a cafe near the medinaC G Am as the hour grew ever late the balchies kitty it grew leanerC G Am and when his francs were gone he prayed upon the evening starC Em Am they took the coat that he was wearing, watch and ring....and that guitar [Break]Am G it was won by a german banker who liked it all just fineAm who'd grown soft with drinking thinking of his fraulineG while still abroad he'd learned some chords and in a few months laterAm when hes again back in berlin hed sit and serenade herC G Am he was held back in Morocco by the start of World War IIC G Am and he learnt she'd met a young cadet and the two of them shot throughAm G he cursed and spat and vowed that as long as she still lingeredAm he'd much rather than play guitar, cut off all his fingers [Break]Am G well i felt sorry for this banker but it just didnt alignAm if its 34 didnt the war begin in 39?G Pedant! he cried, would you deny me a single concessionAm just let me tell you how this thing came into my possession.G i bought it from a local pedler, who bought it from a priestAm who drove his congregation mad with it to say the leastG he'd picked it up for next to nothing browsing at a parish feteAm donated out of charity from a deceased estate [Accel]G of a lovely music teacher who played it for her pupilsAm who'd earlier procured it from a man with dubious scrupolsG who'd pinched it from a folk rock busker somewhere in the townAm who'd been playing in Alexanderplatz the night the wall came downG he got it cheaply off a man who run a music store for cashAm who swapped it from a trader with a handlebar moustacheG who found it in a paper where it had been advertisedAm by the son of that German banker who's old girlfriend he despisedG you'd think any normal person would have just gone out and sold itAm but he kept it as a token of the time he was cuckoldedG he hid it in his attick and it survived the war up thereAm for 30 years until his son went looking for a chairG his dad refused to talk of it until he turned up his toesAm but now its found its way to you just give me 400 Euros.Am G The blood drained right out of the gypsy's face til it was ashenAm he seemed to be completely overcome by his own passionG i couldnt bare to think this was elaborate salesman patterAm but like i said i had no bread so it really didnt matterG the story clanged and banged around my head for the whole dayAm in spite of all the other things i saw it wouldnt strayC G Am before i even knew it i found myself later onC Em Am rushing back to the gypsy but the guitar.... and he were gone [Break]Am G ive learnt that what you dont buy today may not be there tomorrowAm and you are never strictly poor if youve a friend from which to borrowG i thought the old gypsy knew this before he ever saw meAm because when i went Sunday, he was waiting for meC G Am Ive one more thing to sing my friends, if i may be so bold,C G Am the guitar of which i sing, is the one which i now holdAm G and to think of love, and the fullness of, is something i get from itAm and this song i sing wont mean a thing unless its played upon it.
The Guitar
Darren Hanlon
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Continua depois do anúncio
Tom: