All The Dying

	  		 A                       C#m 
When I see a face of anonymity 
  A                              C#m 
Crying on the street, it does something to me 
  A              G#       D 
Iâ??makeâ??believe malady, tragedy 

   A                        C# 
Flowersâ??on the grave is a beautifulâ??thing 
         A                                         D 
'Cause flowers on the grave still means they're getting something 
                 A                           G# 
But when the flowers ain't there, and the grave is bare 
             D 
I think of old dead bones that don't get theirs 

             C#m                 A 
I think of all the butchers and all the beef 
            C#m              A 
I think of all the flies in all the hеat 
            C#m                C#m       C#m 
I think of all the dying and dying and dying 

   D                  A 
Dying and dying and decomposing 
 C#m                   D 
Dying and dying's for real 

      A                          C#m 
Whеn I see the damned in their dire straights 
   A                                D 
Damning all the men with those American names 
              A 
I say "don't damn the man, damn your hand 
              G# 
For makin' a fist and shaking it all around" 
        D                 D 
Damn the hand, damn your hand 

             C#m                    A 
Oh, you can damn the butchers and damn the beef 
             C#m               A 
Oh, you can damn the flies in all the heat 
            C#m                C#m        C#m 
Or you can damn the dying and dying and dying 

Solo A  C#m  Bm  F 

   A                  C#m 
Dying and dying and decomposing 
  A                    D 
Dying and dying's for real 
   A                C#m 
Dying and dying and pounds of posy 
    A              D 
Dying and dying's forever 

      A                        B          E 
When I hear the crying of a siren in the night 
            A                        B                 E 
I think of piles of writhing people, fighting for their lives 
           A                 G#m 
I see an image of a body, broken and beet red 
            D                                  Cm Dm Em 
I hear the a cappella angels singing for the dead 

             C#m                      A 
I think of all the butchers and all the beef 
             C#m                    A 
I think of all the flies in all the heat 
            C#m      C         E              A 
I think of all the dirt that lays a bed for bones 
            C#m      C             E              A 
I think of all the words that get written on the stones 
             C#m     C            E              A 
I think of all the surf that come crashing over souls 
             C#m 
I think of all the dying 
 C#m 
All the dying 
 C#m 
All the dying 
 C#m 
All the dying