Phantom Limb The Shins

Phantom Limb

The Shins

Dawn Cooper

504
0:00 4:44
Accordatura Standard (E A D G B E)
Tempo 4/4
Tonalità: A
Capotasto:
Senza capotasto
Ritmica 1

Whole song: ↓ · · ↓ ↑ · ↓ ·

Testo

[Intro]
| A | - |

[Verse 1]
A
Foals in winter coats,
D                   Bm
 White girls of the north,
G                 D
Filepast one, five and one.
They are the fabled lambs,
   E
Of Sunday ham,
      Bm
The EHS norm.

[Verse 2]
               A
And they could float above the grass,
D                  A
 In circles if they tried.
G                  D
Latent power I know they hide,
To keep some hope alive,
       E                 Bm
That a girl like I could ever try.
           A
Could ever try.

[Chorus]
   F#m     D
So we just skirt the hallway sides,
E                F#m
 A phantom and a fly,
F#         D
Follow the lines and wonder why,
E
 There's no connection.

[Verse 3]
    A
And week of rolling eyes,
D                         Bm
 And cheap shots from the trite,
          G                      D
And we're off to Nemarca’s porch again.
                           E
Another afternoon with the goathead tunes,
    Bm
And pilfered booze.

[Verse 4]
            A
We wandered through her mama's house,
D                     A
 And milk from the window lights.
       G                  D
Family portrait circa ninetyfive.
This is that foreign land,
         E
With the sprayedon tans,
    Bm
And it feels fine.
              A
Be it silk or slime.

[Chorus]
F#m          D
So when they tap our Monday heads,
E                 F#m
 To zombie walk in   our stead,
F#              D
This town seems hardly worth our time.
E    F#m         D               E
 And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme,
                F#m
Too far along in   our climb.
         F#            D
Stepping over what now towers to the sky,
E
 With no connection.

[Interlude]
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.

[Chorus]
F#m          D
So when they tap our Sunday heads,
E                 F#m
 To zombie walk in   our stead,
F#              D
This town seems hardly worth our time.
E    F#m         D               E
 And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme,
                F#m
Too far along in   our climb.
         F#            D
Stepping over what now towers to the sky,
E
 With no connection.

[Outro]
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.
A   D
Ooh.
E A   D E
  Ooh.

Battute

[Intro]
| A | - |

[Verse 1]
         | A | D  |
| Bm | - | G | D  |
| -  | - | E | Bm |
| -  |

Foals in winter coats,
White girls of the north,
Filepast one, five and one.
They are the fabled lambs,
Of Sunday ham,
The EHS norm.

[Verse 2]
    | A  | D | A |
| G | D  | - | - |
| E | Bm | - | A |
| - |

And they could float above the grass,
In circles if they tried.
Latent power I know they hide,
To keep some hope alive,
That a girl like I could ever try.
Could ever try.

[Chorus]
      | F#m | D | E |
| F#m | F#  | D | E |
| -   |

So we just skirt the hallway sides,
A phantom and a fly,
Follow the lines and wonder why,
There's no connection.

[Verse 3]
    | A | D  | Bm |
| - | G | D  | -  |
| - | E | Bm | -  |

And week of rolling eyes,
And cheap shots from the trite,
And we're off to Nemarca’s porch again.
Another afternoon with the goathead tunes,
And pilfered booze.

[Verse 4]
| A  | D | A | G |
| D  | - | - | E |
| Bm | - | A | - |

We wandered through her mama's house,
And milk from the window lights.
Family portrait circa ninetyfive.
This is that foreign land,
With the sprayedon tans,
And it feels fine.
Be it silk or slime.

[Chorus]
| F#m | D | E | F#m |
| F#  | D | E | -   |
| F#m | D | E | F#m |
| F#  | D | E | -   |

So when they tap our Monday heads,
To zombie walk in   our stead,
This town seems hardly worth our time.
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme,
Too far along in   our climb.
Stepping over what now towers to the sky,
With no connection.

[Interlude]
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |

Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.

[Chorus]
| F#m | D | E | F#m |
| F#  | D | E | -   |
| F#m | D | E | F#m |
| F#  | D | E | -   |

So when they tap our Sunday heads,
To zombie walk in   our stead,
This town seems hardly worth our time.
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme,
Too far along in   our climb.
Stepping over what now towers to the sky,
With no connection.

[Outro]
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E | - |
| A | D | E |

Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.
Ooh.

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