Anais Mitchell : Misc

Am

Dm

F

Am

C

G

F

Am

Dm

I could tell you stories like the government tells lies

Am

F

Oh but no one listens any more

Am

In the rooms the women come and go

Dm

Talking on the mobile phones

C

G

F

And the television talks about the war

Am

Dm

When I was a baby there was laughter in my house

Am

F

And my daddy smoked domestic cigarettes

Am

Thursday nights on the radio

Dm

C

Live in concert, live from Cairo

G

F

Mother of Egypt

Am

G

F

G

Mama, mama, be with me

F

Am

With the music in your breast

F

Am

In your glittering evening dress

F

C

G

And the white flag in your fist trembling

Am

Dm

F

Am

C

G

F

Am

Dm

I could tell you stories like the past was dead and gone

Am

F

I know nothing changes in this world

Am

Every day the muezzin calls

Dm

Sun comes up and Baghdad falls

C

G

F

Before the eyes of storytelling girls

Am

Dm

She was just a poor man's daughter

C

G

F

Going down into the sultan's bed

Am

Dm

He was desert, she was a water

C

G

F

And he remembered every word she said, she said

Am

G

F

G

And I say: Grandma, Grandma, be with me

F

Am

In your tragic wedding gown

F

Am

With your long hair hanging down

F

C

G

And the stories tumbling out, tumbling

Am

Dm

F

Am

C

G

F

Am

Dm

I could tell you stories like the government tells lies

Am

F

Oh, but no one listens any more

Am

In the rooms the women come and go

Dm

Talking on the mobile phones

C

G

F

And the television talks about the war, about the war

Am

G

Am

And the television talks about the war

Capo:

V

|

G

D

|

C

G

| |

G

|

D

| |

G

|

D

| |

C

G

|

G

C

| |

Em

D

|

C

G

| |

G

|

D

| |

G

|

D

| |

C

G

|

G

C

|

C

D

C

G

As I walked out over London Bridge

Em

D

On a misty morning early

C

D

I overheard a fair pretty maid

C

G

C

Crying for the life of her Geordie

Em

G

Saddle me a milk white steed

G

D

Bridle me a pony

C

D

And I'll ride down to London town

C

G

C

And I'll beg for the life of my Geordie |

G

|

G

C

| And when she came to the courthouse steps The poor folks numbered many A hundred crowns she passed around Saying, Pray for the life of my Geordie He never stole a mule or a mare He never murdered any If he shot one of the king's wild deer It was only to feed his family In then she strolled through the marble halls Before the judge and the jury Down on her bended knee she falls Crying for the life of her Geordie He never stole, he never slew He never murdered any He never injured any of you Spare me the life of my Geordie

Repeat intro

The judged looked over his left shoulder And said I'm sorry for thee My pretty fair maid you've come too late He's been condemned already But six pretty babes I had by him The seventh one lies in my body And I would bear them all over again If you give me the life of my Geordie Your Geordie will hang from a silver chain Such as we don't hang many And he'll be lain in a coffin brave For your six fine sons to carry I wish I had you in a public square The whole town gathered around me With my broadsword and a pistol too I'd fight you for the life of my Geordie

C

Summer went the way of spring

G

Winter's waiting in the wings

F

And we haven't saved anything

C

G7

But that's alright 'Cause we already paid the rent There's still some money we haven't spent Go put on something different We're going out tonight I have loved you for so long Even when I could only do you wrong Go see if they have our song On the jukebox over there A dollar gets you seven plays I watch you through a smoky haze A secret smile on your face I'm sorry if I stare

Am

F

But you look like a stranger

C

G

In that old-fashioned hat

Am

F

And I've got a pocketful of change

C

G

And I don't wanna go home yet Clearly I remember when I used to scratch my poems On the backs of other lovers in The darkness of my mind Back before I made my home In the marrow of your bones Now I know your figure like my own Even from behind But you look like a stranger In that old-fashioned hat And I've got a pocketful of change And I don't wanna go home yet Hey and we'll be married soon We'll be dancing to this very tune Then we'll have a honeymoon Then we'll start to fight Bring the tonic and the gin Say what was your name again? Stick another quarter in And stay with me tonight You look like a stranger In that old-fashioned hat And I've got a pocketful of change And I don't wanna go home yet

A

The king sits in Dunfermline town

D

A

Drinking the blood-red wine

A

"Where can I get a good Captain

G

D/f#

A

To sail this ship of mine?"

A

Then up and spoke a sailor boy

G

D/f#

Sitting at the king's right knee

A

G

D/f#

"Sir Patrick Spens is the best Captain

F

G

A

That ever sailed to sea" The king he wrote a broad letter And he sealed it with his hand And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens Walking out on the strand To Norway, to Norway, to Norway To Norway or the foam With all my lords and finery To bring my new bride home The first line that Sir Patrick read He gave a weary sigh The next line that Sir Patrick read A salt tear blinds his eye "Oh, who is it, oh, who is it Who told the king of me To set us out this time of year To sail across the sea? But rest you well, my good men all Our ship must sail the morn With four and twenty noble lords Dressed up in silk so fine And four and twenty feather beds To lay their heads upon Away, away, we'll all away To bring the king's bride home" "I fear, I fear, My captain dear I fear we'll come to harm Last night I saw the new moon clear The old moon in her arm." "Oh be it fair, or be it foul Or be it deadly storm Oh, blow the wind where e'er it will Our ship must sail the morn" They hadn't sailed a day, a day A day but only one When loud and boisterous blew the wind And made the good ship moan They hadn't sailed a day, a day A day but only three When oh, the waves came o'er the side And rolled around their knees They hadn't sailed a league, a league A league but only five When the anchor broke and the sails were torn And the ship began to rive They hadn't sailed a league, a league A league but only nine When oh, the waves came o'er the side Driving to their chins "Who will climb the top mast high While I take helm in hand? Who will climb the top mast high To see if there be dry land?" "No shore, no shore, my Captain dear I haven't seen dry land But I have seen a lady fair With a comb and a glass in her hand" "Come down, come down, you sailor boy I think you tarry long The salt sea's in at my coat neck And out at my left arm Come down, come down, you sailor boy 'Tis here that we must die Our ship is torn at every side And now the sea comes in" Loathe, loathe were those noble lords To wet their high-heeled shoes But long before the day was o'er Their hats, they swam above And many were the feathered beds That fluttered on the foam And many were those noble lords Who never did come home It's fifty miles shore to shore And fifty fathoms deep And there lies good Sir Patrick Spens The lords all at his feet Long, long, may his lady look With a lantern in her hand Before she sees Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing home again

Capo:

V

Am

G

F

C

G

Am

When we came

G

We came through the cold

F

We came bearing gifts of gold

C

G

And frankincense and myrrh

Am

And there were trumpets playing

G

There were angels looking down

F

On a west bank town

C

G

Am

G

And he so loved the world

Am

G/b

Am

Wore we then our warmest capes

Am

G/b

Am

Wore we then our walking shoes

Am

G/b

Am

G/b

Open wide the city gates

Am

G

F

C

G

And let us through A child is born Born in Bethlehem Born in a cattle pen A child is born on the killing floor And still he no crying makes Still as the air is he Lying so prayerfully there Waiting for the war Welcome home, my child Your home is a checkpoint now Your home is a border town Welcome to the brawl And life ain't fair, my child Put your hands in the air, my child Slowly now, single file, now Up against the wall Wear we now our warmest coats Wear we now our walking shoes Open wide the gates of hope And let us through When we came We came through the cold We came bearing gifts of gold And frankincense and myrrh And there were shepherds praying There were lions laying down With the lambs in a west bank town And he so loved the world

Capo:

I

Badd4/a x04440

A

(

E

)

B

The king has been a prisoner

A

Badd4/a

A

And a prisoner long in Spain

C#m

A

E

G#m

And Willie of the Winsbury

B

E

A

Has lain long with his daughter Jane What ails you, what ails you, my daughter Jane? Why you look so pale and wan? Oh have you had any ill sickness Or yet been sleeping with a man? I have not had any ill sickness Nor yet been sleeping with a man It is for you, my father dear For biding so long in Spain |

E

|

B

|

A

| Cast off, cast off, your robe and gown Stand naked on the stone That I might know you by your shape If you be a maiden or none And she's cast off the robe and gown Stood naked on the stone Her apron was tight and her waist was round Her face was pale and wan |

E

|

B

|

A

| And was it with a lord or a gentleman Or a man of wealth and fame Or was it with one of my serving men While I was a prisoner in Spain? No it wasn't with a lord or a gentleman Or a man of wealth and fame It was with Willie of Winsbury I could cry no longer alone And the king has called his serving men By one, by two and by three Saying, where is this Willie of Winsbury? For hanged he shall be |

E

|

B

|

A

| And when they came before the king By one, by two and by three Willie should have been the first of them But the last of them was he And Willie of the Winsbury All dressed out in red silk His hair hung like the strands of gold His breast was white as milk |

E

|

B

|

A

| No wonder, no wonder, the king he said That my daughter's love you did win If I were a woman as I am a man In my own bed you would have been And will you marry my daughter Jane By the faith of your right hand? And I'll make you the lord of my serving men I'll make you the heir of my land Oh yes, I'll marry your daughter Jane By the faith of my right hand But I'll not be the lord of any men I'll not be the heir to your land And he raised her up on a milk-white steed And himself on a dapple grey He has made her the lady of as much land As she can ride in a long summer's day

Anais Mitchell : Misc

Before The Eyes Of Storytelling Girls

Geordie

Old-Fashioned Hat

Sir Patrick Spens

Song Of The Magi

Willie Of Winsbury