Sufjan Stevens - John my beloved

^BbmAre we to ^Fmspeak, first ^Cmday of the^Eb week ^DbStumbling w^Abords at the b^Ebar ^BbmBeauty blue e^Fmyes, my or^Cmder of fries ^DbLong island ki^Abndness and ^Ebwine ^BbmBeloved of J^Fmohn, I g^Cmet it all w^Ebrong I r^Dbead you for s^Abome kind of s^Ebtone ^BbmCovered in l^Fmines, the f^Cmossils I find ^DbHave they no l^Abife of their o^Ebwn?

^BbmSo can we pr^Ebetend sw^Abeetly ^BbmBefore the my^Abstery e^Ebnds? ^AbI am a ^Dbman with a heart that o^Abffends With its lonely and greedy d^Ebemands There’s o^Fmnly a ^Ebshadow of ^Abme; in a manner of speaking ^EbI'm dead

^BbmSuch a wa^Fmste, your bea^Cmutiful f^Ebace ^DbSlumbering car^Abpet ar^Ebise ^BbmBut you and your r^Fming, your li^Cmfe-giving string C^Dbome to me n^Abow as a f^Ebriend ^FmIf hi^Bbmstory spe^Fmaks, the k^Cmiss on my ^Ebcheek ^FmI’m painting the h^Abills blue and r^Ebed ^BbmThey said bewa^Fmre, L^Cmord hear my p^Ebrayer ^DbAnointing my l^Above on your h^Ebead

^EbSo can we be fr^Cmiends s^Abweetly ^DbBefore the mystery e^Ebnds? I ^Ablove you mo^Dbre than the world can c^Abontain In its lo^Dbneliest ram^Abshackle he^Ebad ^FmThere’s only a sha^Ebdow of m^Abe; in a ma^Dbnner of s^Abpeaking I'm d^Ebead

^BbmI’m holding my ^Fmbreath My ^Cmsignature de^Ebath ^FmWhat can be s^Abaid of my hea^Ebrt? ^BbmIf history sp^Fmeaks, the k^Cmiss on my ^Ebcheek ^DbWhere there re^Abmains but a m^Ebark ^BbmBeloved my ^FmJohn, so ^CmI’ll carry o^Ebn ^DbCounting my c^Ebards down to o^Cmne ^BbmAnd when I am de^Fmad, re^Cmturn to the bed ^EbMy fo^Dbssil is br^Abight in the ^Ebsun