Danny Schmidt - 2020 vision

^DbThere’s a face in the distance, they’re ^Gball distant ^Dbnow She’s holding her breath and she’s ^Gbhiding her ^Dbmouth We’re w^Abalking on opposite si^Gbdes of the lonely ^Dbdivide ^{Gb Db} The closer we came the f^Gburther it f^Dbelt Until I crossed the road and then ^Gbshe crossed h^Dberself I ^Abwaved as we passed and she s^Gbmiled with the bags of her ^Dbeyes ^{Gb Db}

^AbOh 2020, you’re ^Gbfading ^Dbaway Your ^Gbweeks into m^Dbonths and your months into ^Abdays As they a^Dbll blur together like ^Gbtears on the ^Dbpage As if the ^Abangels were w^Gbriting it ^Dbdown

^DbA party’s a cocktail we ^Gbdrink all ^Dbalone Our friends are a movie we ^Gbwatch on our ^Dbphone Our ^Abparents are teenagers ^Gbsneaking around in the ^Dbnight ^{Gb Db} Our children are monkeys that are ^Gbtied to our ^Dbwrists Our houses are wrecking balls ^Gbtied to a ^Dblist A ^Abplan is a guess where the ^Gbjester insists that he’s ^Dbright ^{Gb Db}

^AbOh 2020, you’re ^Gbfading ^Dbaway Your ^Gbweeks into m^Dbonths and your months into ^Abdays As they a^Dbll blur together like ^Gbtears on the ^Dbpage As if the ^Abangels were w^Gbriting it ^Dbdown

^DbThe shelves are as empty as p^Gbeople are ^Dbscared Our hands are as clean as the ^Gbfear in the ^Dbair Our ^Abtrust is as blind as the ^Gbpackages left on the ^Dbporch ^{Gb Db} We’re lucky if somehow we s^Gbtill have some w^Dbork Where all that’s required is ^Gbwearing a s^Dbhirt We’re ^Abso nonessential, at ^Gblast we can laugh til it ^Dbhurts ^{Gb Db}

^AbOh 2020, you’re ^Gbfading ^Dbaway Your ^Gbweeks into m^Dbonths and your months into ^Abdays As they a^Dbll blur together like ^Gbtears on the ^Dbpage As if the ^Abangels were w^Gbriting it ^Dbdown

^DbI think of my grandparents’ ^Gbtime in the ^Dbwar That it’s never the same as the ^Gbsame was ^Dbbefore If ^Abthey bomb your ^Gbcathedral, forever the treasure is ^Dbgone ^{Gb Db} At night I hear sirens and s^Gbongs in the ^Dbdark And the roar of propellers like ^Gbheaves of dry c^Dboughs In the ^Abheart of the city, there’s a ^Gbhole where John Prine still ^Dbbelongs

^AbOh 2020, you’re ^Gbfading ^Dbaway Your ^Gbweeks into m^Dbonths and your months into ^Abdays As they a^Dbll blur together like ^Gbtears on the ^Dbpage As if the ^Abangels were w^Gbriting it ^Dbdown

As if the ^Abangels were w^Gbriting it ^Dbdown As if the ^Abangels were w^Gbriting it ^Dbdown