Robbie Fulks - Never come home

^F#mMaybe time has wrought some c^Ahanges ^F#mMaybe I remember w^Arong ^F#mIt stands to reason I've grown s^Aofter ^F#mI was married for so l^Aong ^DI took a chill late last ^BmApril ^DLost thirty pounds by mid ^BmJuly ^DNot that the old place was the ^Bmanswer ^F#mJust one last thing that I could t^Ary ^F#mI had scarcely laid my bag d^Aown ^F#mWhen my misjudgement hit me s^Aquare ^F#mI was welcomed like a guilty p^Arisoner ^F#mOld grievances ^Afouled the air

^F#mFour hundred miles mean n^Aothing ^F#mOne mans troubles are his o^Awn ^F#mThe land is run down and r^Aagged ^F#mI should have never come h^Aome

^F#mThere's a couple of babies in the c^Aradle ^F#mSister's gone east for a t^Aime ^F#mMama's boiling water by the wood s^Atove ^F#mNeighbours stealing glances through the b^Alind ^DNow she's looking at me through their ^Bmeyes ^DAnd I see the thought she hides in ^Bmvain ^DAll my years among the silken-tongued, the ^Bmfallen ^F#mHave made this cancer in my b^Arain ^F#mCheap coal's spilling from the h^Ailltops ^F#mThe earth is shaking from them old drag l^Aines ^F#mBut when these little towns lie s^Aleeping ^F#mIt's like it must have been before m^Aankind ^DWatch the wild mid summer ^Bmmoonlight ^DDrifting slow across the ^Bmlawn ^DCatch the outlines the ^Bmcreation ^F#mAs morning comes o^An

^F#mNow there's cousins dropping in from B^Ariersville ^F#mWith self regard these baptists farely s^Ahine ^F#mMama gives them high a^Admiration ^F#mContempt is the best that I can f^Aind

^DFour hundred miles mean ^Bmnothing ^DOne mans troubles are his ^Bmown ^DSick and torn from wife and ^Bmchildren ^F#mI should have never come h^Aome

^F#mI hear them whispering my n^Aame ^F#mLate at night beneath my r^Aoom ^F#mTheir voices rise as they grow d^Arunker ^F#mBlack vultures gathering at my t^Aomb ^DHumbled by the ancient jewish ^Bmprophets ^DDazzled by the distant network ^Bmtheme ^DBorn by the promise of ^Bmtomorrow ^F#mBury me with all s^Apeed ^F#mNow I was born in New York C^Aity ^F#mDown here I'm near a s^Alave ^F#mCan't hardly take in one more b^Aody ^F#mCan't afford another g^Arave

^DFour hundred miles mean ^Bmnothing ^DOne mans troubles are his ^Bmown ^DThis land is run down and ^Bmragged ^F#mI should have never come h^Aome