This Blackest Purse

Intro 
G# G#sus2 G# G#sus2 G# G#sus2 F#maj7 C#maj7 


G#                             G#sus2 
I'm not who, with my eyes from stage 
I claim to be 
     G#                   G#sus2 
I've only cradled death in my own ending 
           G#             G#sus2 
Flesh from far off and abstracted lit 
Fm7                       C#maj7 
Candle wick flickering 
           G#                 G#sus2 
And when a thing starts finishing around me 
  G#                           G#sus2 
I faint or fake a mustache, an accent, or flee 
    G#              G#sus2              Fm7                C#maj7 
In fear my expired license be pulled by sheer proximity 


      G#                                 Cm/G 
Fact: the poseur in the bowler gets shot first 
                                            Fm7 
Thinks he's the shit 'cause he can spit and curse 
                                        C#maj7 
Acting brash and flashing a pistol that squirts 
Scowling, and shouting, "Shall we dance?" 

 
           G#                                    Cm/G 
Should our hero's hands be holding this blackest purse? 
                      Fm7 
Mom, am I failing, or worse? 
          C#maj7 
Mom, am I failing? 
(Mom, am I failing?) 
                  Fm 
What should these earnest hands be holding? 


                   G#                     G#sus2 
Still sporting my ex-girlfriend's dead ex-boyfriend's boxers 
  G#                     G#sus2 
I want to operate from a base of hunger 
    G#       G#sus2 
No longer be ashamed and hide my 
Fm7                            C#maj7 
Tears in shower water, while I lather for pleasure 
          G#                   G#sus2 
I want to speak at an intimate decibel 
           G#                     G#sus2 
With the precision of an infinite decimal 
          G#                      G#sus2 
To listen up and send back a true echo 
       Fm7 
Of something forever felt but never heard 
            C#maj7 
I want that sharpened steel of truth in every word 


G# 
The small fry in the bow-tie dies first 
      Cm/G                                       Fm7 
Acting wild, like the spirit of God moving after church 
                                       C#maj7 
Faking he's hard like he's packed down dirt 
Already, and yelling, "Be my guest!" 


          G#                                    Cm/G 
Should our hero's hands be holding this blackest purse? 
                    Fm7 
Mom, am I failing or worse? 
          C#maj7 
Mom, am I failing? 
(Mom, am I failing?) 
                 Fm 
What should these earnest hands be holding? 
          G#                                     Cm/G 
Should our hero's hands be holding this blackest purse? 
                    Fm7 
Mom, am I failing or worse? 
          C#maj7 
Mom, am I failing? 
(Mom, am I failing?) 
                  Fm 
What should these earnest hands be holding? 

Outro 
G# G#sus2 G# G#sus2 G# G#sus2 F#maj7 C#maj7