| C | C | G | F | |
| My l | ove she speaks like silence |
| C | G | F | |
| Without ideals or violence |
| C | |
| She doesn’t have to say she’s f | aithful |
| Dm | G7 | |
| Yet she's t | rue, like ice, like f | ire |
| C | C | G | F | |
| P | eople carry roses |
| C | C | G | F | |
| And make promises by the h | ours |
| C | |
| My love she laughs like the fl | owers |
| F | G7 | C | |
| Valent | ines c | an’t buy h | er |
| C | C | G | F | |
| In the d | ime stores and bus stations |
| C | C | G | F | |
| People talk of situ | ations |
| C | |
| Read books, repeat quot | ations |
| Dm | G7 | |
| Draw concl | usions on the w | all |
| C | C | G | F | |
| S | ome speak of the future |
| C | C | G | F | |
| My love she speaks s | oftly |
| C | |
| She knows there’s no success like f | ailure |
| F | (C) | G7 | C | |
| And that f | ailure’s n | o succ | ess at | all |
| C | C | G | F | |
| The cl | oak and dagger dangles |
| C | C | G | F | |
| Madams light the c | andles |
| F | C | |
| In c | eremonies of the h | orsemen |
| Dm | G7 | |
| Even the p | awn must hold a gr | udge |
| C | C | G | F | |
| St | atues made of match sticks |
| C | C | G | F | |
| Crumble into one an | other |
| C | |
| My love winks, she does not b | other |
| F | G7 | C | |
| She kn | ows too much to | argue or to j | udge |
| C | C | G | F | |
| The br | idge at midnight trembles |
| C | C | G | F | |
| The country doctor r | ambles |
| C | |
| Bankers’ nieces seek p | erfection |
| Dm | G7 | |
| Expecting | all the gifts that wise men br | ing |
| C | C | G | F | |
| The w | ind howls like a hammer |
| C | C | G | F | |
| The night blows r | ainy |
| C | |
| My love she’s like some r | aven |
| F | (C) | G7 | C | |
| At my w | indow w | ith a br | oken w | ing |
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