Intro: F#m A F#m A Bm A
F#m A
Someone got shot dead 'round here.
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People left flowers by the Ribena stains on the pavement.
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Friends, neighbours, strangers.
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A million blooms, one day dusty, the next wet and ragged.
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So, guess what? I took them all home with me
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in a wheelbarrow and filled the bathroom from floor to ceiling, and listen,
F#m A
there was no devine damnation
F#m A
no cosmic retribution.
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Once the petals wilted, I pressed them all flat in the largest book I've got.
D A Bm D F#m Bm A F#m
On wet days, the ghost sits in the kitchen leafing through it.
Bm A F#m
He's not grey or wraith-like,
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but bright and solid,
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like a new bike.
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Looks at the faded colours and plays the radio too loud,
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and makes a damn mess of fag butts and tea leaves.
