The Sundays - Life goes on

^C Build me up, don't get me d^Gown Weather the s^Dmtorm Well, l^Fife goes on ^C Feelings ebb and flow by the h^Gour You're up in the c^Dmlouds And then you s^Fink like a stone

So do you f^Feed yourself with pills? Oh, to d^Ceaden your ills? Or are you only ^Fone love short Of h^Amappiness And in a p^Ficture on the wall No g^Climmer of yourself at all You've l^Dmeft yourself far a^Fway

^C Build me up, don't mop my b^Grow Weather the s^Dmtorm? No Because ^Flife goes on ^C And it's my only hope right n^Gow To soar like a b^Dmird And not to s^Fink like a stone

So do you f^Feed yourself with pills? Oh, to d^Ceaden your ills? Or are you only ^Fone love short Of h^Amappiness And in a p^Ficture on the wall No g^Climmer of yourself at all You've l^Dmeft yourself far aw^Fay

Oh, so do you f^Feed yourself with pills? To c^Cure you of your ills Or are you only ^Fone love short Of the h^Amappy days to come And in a p^Ficture on the wall You can't s^Cee your face at all So un^Dmtie yourself Because t^Fhat's all you've got to do

And I can g^Frow a pair of wings And I can t^Cake off flying

^FUp in the air, looking back d^Amown And let me tell you, if I t^Falk about gloom I don't get ^Cout of feeling down It s^Dmtrips you of yourself and it s^Bbplits you from the self that you k^Cnow...