Pure Comedy

D#dim/A            G#/C
The comedy of man starts like this
    G#dim/D
Our brains are way too big for our
Amaj7
mothers' hips
       A7
And so Nature, She devines this
   E             G#7/C
al-ternative: We emerge half-formed

and hope whoever greets
           A7
us on the other end
    A                     E
is kind enough to fill us in
                    A7
And babies, that's pretty
                        E
much how it's been ever since

[verse 2]

D#dim/A
    Now, the miracle of birth
              G#/C
leaves a few issues to adress:
                G#dim/D
Like, say, that half of us
                        Amaj7
are periodic'ly iron de-ficient
               A7
So, somebody's gotta go kill
                  E
something while I look after the 
kids
             G#7/C
I'd do it my-self, but, 'What?
                        A7
Are you gonna give this thing its 
milk?'
                       A
He says, as soon as he gets back
                      E
from the hunt, we can switch
                  A7
It's hard not to fall in love
                       E
with something so help-less
          A7
Ladies, I hope we don't end up
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           E
regretting this!

[Chorus 1]
E       E7
Comedy. Now, that's what I call pure
A       A7
comedy.   Just wait until the part 
where
G#m                  G#sus2
they start to believe, they're at 
the
G#m             G#sus2
center of ev'ry thing, and some all
A6             A            B6
powerful being endowed this horror
          B         B6    B
show with meaning.
          E                       E7
Oh, their religions are the best

They worship themselves, yet they're
A                 A7
totally obsessed with risen zombies,
          G#m            G#sus2
celestial virgins, magic tricks, 
these
     G#m       G#sus2
unbe-lieveable outfits, and they get
A                       B6
terribly upset when you question
                B               B6
their sacred texts, written by women

hating epleptics.

[bridge]

      A6                     
Their languages just serve to 
  A
confuse them
          Am
Their con-fusion somehow makes them 
more sure
           A7
They build fortunes poisoning their 
offspring
             Am
And hand out prizes when someone 
patents
                          Amaj7
the cure.  Where did they find these
 goons

they elected to rule them? What 
makes
       Am
these clowns they idolize so 
remarkable?
                  A7
These mammals are hell-bent on 
fashioning
                      Am
new gods, so they can go on being

godless animals

[instrumental]

D#dim/A        G#7/C
G#dim/D        Amaj7
A7             E
G#7/C          A7

[chorus 2]

    E       E7
Oh, comedy.    Their illusions, 
they've no
A                     A7
choice but to believe.  Their 
horizons that
       G#m        G#sus2         
just forever recede.   And how's 
G#m
this for
             F#m7
irony: Their idea of being free
     B6               B
is a prison of beliefs, that they
B6                  B
never ever have to leave.
    E
Oh, comedy. Oh! It' like something
       Amaj7                   A7
that a madman would conceive

The only thing that seems to
G#m           G#sus2         G#m
make them feel alive is the struggle
   G#sus2                F#m7
to survive. But the only thing that
                             B6
they request is something to numb 
the
         B               B6    
pain with, until there's nothing 
             B
human left.
            A
Just random matter suspended in the 
dark
          Am
I hate to say it, but each other's 
all we've got.