Let The Canefields Burn

	  		Graeme plays this tuned down half a step to D# 
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E                          G#m         A              E 
There's a painting of my grandfather, on my mothers side 
         F#m             G#m            A                B 
in the hallway of our homestaed, in a special place of pride 
            E           G#m               A             E 
with his bulldogs and kanakas, back in eighteen nighty three 
       A                E      F#m          B          E  add9 
in a linen suit and a panama, they say he looked like me. 
 
 
 E                     G#m           A               E 
and the story goes he came out, to make a brand new start 
        F#m        G#m         A             B  
in an effort to forget, a sad affair of the heart 
          E              G#m              A         E 
so with these romantic notions, to the colonies he came 
           A              E                    F#m     B      E 
where he settled in the tropics and made his fortune growing cane. 
 
E                              E 
Well let the canefields burn, let the flames rise 
E          A                            E 
let the politicians and the bankers in the city look up 
E                         A      E 
in wonder at the glow at in the sky. 
E 
let the canefield burn, let me feel no pain 
         A                E          B            E 
when I drown my soul in whisky, and dance in the flames.
 
 
E                      G#m            A              E 
There's a photo of my parents, taken in between the wars 
    F#m             G#m     A               B 
in London, Rome or Paris, I don't know for shure 
E                           G#m                A             E 
but it hangs there in the hallway and there's one for every year 
 A                   G#m                F#m       B      E  add9     
fortunes made, and fortunes paid, for champagne souveniers. 
 
 
Chorus:....let the canefields burn.... 
 
C#m                                   E 
And they say they're gonna take this all away from me 
C#m                                      E 
the cars the cane the homestead, all my family history 
      C#m                                E                 A 
well tomorrow when the bankers come, to settle all their claims 
          E                       B                 E       add9 
let the auctioneer open...with a price for charred remains! 
 
 
Chorus:....let the canefields burn....