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As I Bbwalk these narrow streets
where a Dmillion passin' Ffeet have trod Bbbefore me F Bb
With my guitar in my hand
Fsuddenly I realDize Bbnobody knows me F Bb
Where Dyesterday the multitudes screamed
and cried my name out for a Bbsong F Bb Gm
Now the streets are empty D
and the crowds they've all gone on Bbhome F Bb
With the rain on my face
there's Dno place where FI Bbbelong F Bb
And my whole life consists
Dof a story a Fpoem and a Bbsong F Bb
Now the Dtruths I've tried to tell you
are as distant as the Bbmoon F Bb Gm
Born a hundred years too late D
two hundred years Bbtoo soon F Bb
I'm a Cchild of the sage
FLost in the Gpages of a Cbook G C
But when I'm dust and clay
Fwill other people Gstop to take a Clook G C
And will they Fmarvel at the miracles I performed
And to the heighths I Caspired G C
AmOr will they tear the pages Ffrom the book
to light a Cfire G C
With the rain on my face
there's Fno place where GI beClong F C G C
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