Tom: D
A D A
I come from a long line, high low and in between, same as you.
A D A
Hills of golden, miles of poison time's thrown me through.
A D A
And I believe I've come to learn that turnin' round is to become confusion,
G D Dm A
And the gold's no good for spendin', and the poison's hungry waitin'.
What can you leave behind, when you're flyin' lightnin' fast and all alone?
Only a trace my friend, spirit of motion born and direction grown.
A trace that will not fade in frozen skies, and your journey will be.
And if a shadow don't seem much company, well who said it would be?
