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[Apr. 11th, 2003|10:32 pm]
"Friday Morning"
    A           Bbmaj7               A                G
And suddenly it seemed like she just didn't feel like talking much
  F                 G              A             Dm
A worried blankness on her face as she began, "I like you, but..."
    A                   Bmaj7            A                     G
She sighed and spoke as if each word had burned her lips while speaking it
    F            G                   A               Dm
The music had no life, she said, without the wanting driving it
   A            Bbmaj7           A                G
To be again, so close to him, to feel complacent, safe, content
      F                G                   A                A7
Would blind her to the shades of blue, and numb to what her music meant
          Dm       G       C        F
though he didn't believe a word she said
         Dm7  G              C       A7
he could sympathize with her doubts
      Dm       G        C             F
still knew she wouldn't leave him for this
    Dm       Bm7     E7   E7 
and wondered what it was about

A Bbmaj7 A G
F G A E7

From: mmia
2003-04-11 09:40 pm (UTC)
Well, good riddance. I didn't like her anyways. No girl in her right mind sings for a band called "major tom's oats". This waywardly hippie is too trite for the protagonist. Moreover, she only plays one note: pretentiously creative, sharped by unappreciative, and flatted by confusion. But then, what sort of man is any good, who volunteers for blind dates, and falls in love with other girls while on these dates, on the very evening of the day, in which he unremembered another; but he's free for better things, like "math on a saturday night".

As usual, intriguingly clever.
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