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AOh, no!
There goes, tF#mhere goes my head
AThere goes my hEead A
AThrow ten on in, in the swear jar
AIn the swear jar
AOutside storms cry, F#minside now
DNot much better, stormy weatherA
AI am writing a song book on a mountain
EIn the garden where we built a Dhome
ABlack flowers
EIn the stories, the lies that Dthey wrote
AEscape me
EAnd the winged horses that we once Drode
Have Astopped breathing
EIn the garden where we built Da home
ABlack flowers
AOne, two, three, four
AEDAEDA
DIn the garden where we built aA home
And the stDories, the lies that they Awrote
DAnd the winged horses that we onceA rode
DAre all strung out and spun out Ay'know
DIn the garden where built aA home
DAnd the roads that we built all Acorrode
DIn the garden where we built aA home
DOnce a river, a sea now a Amote
DAnd the black flowers grow allA around
DAnd the angels who died in ourA sound
DNow nothing will come of thisA now
DFor nothing can grow from the Aground
DAnd no one we know now will sAave us
DLike no one we know woAuld try
DLike everything once is now Aover
DJust as everything once hasA died
DIn the garden where we built aA home
DAnd all those we kept in Atow
DThe weeper with his tiny Apiano
DThe willow with her singing Asaw
DThe jeweler with her cast iron hAammer
DOh, the ivy, the crows, and the Alaw
DIn the garden where we built a Ahome
DAll's dark inside the tAower
DIn the garden where we built a Ahome
DBlack flowers A
DBlack Aflowers
DBlack Aflowers
DBlack Aflowers
DBlack Aflowers
DBlack Aflowers
DBlack Aflowers
DBlack Aflowers
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