I Forgot About Songs

G                          G
To hear a song like that, To have it
 spoon your sad little heart
G                                 
It didn't give me a better outlook
                  G
 on life but it told me: "I've been 
there too, and I turned it to art"

               C       D          
And that made all the difference 
  Em
to me
          C       D             G
That made all the difference to me

G                             G
And I forgot about songs, I forgot 
about what they are to me
G                            G
I forgot how they hold me, How they 
sooth me and carry me

C                                 
 I forgot about violins, I forgot 
         G
how they see me
C                                 
 Try me and taunt me, And how they
         Em
 finally breathe me

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C                                 
 I forgot about chord changes 
                       G
Where the base tone stays intact
C                              
 I forgot about drums and Voices 
                      Em
with a tendency to crack
           C       D            Em
They make all the difference to me
           C       D            G
They make all the difference to me

                C                
There was this September When all 
       Em
broke through
                  D              
Turned out all my truths had worn 
         Em            D       
thin, I dangled by a thread from 
       C
within
                  Em        D
But I heard a violin


                    C              
"I'll hold you my child", The song 
             Em
said, and it did
              D                
It stroke my forehead with pale 
            Em            D       
hands and Slowly carried me to the
    C
 bridge
                    Em           D
And as the chorus arrived I let go -
 oh

G
And you're so young, You're so young
 and you come up to me
         G
And you tell me it helped you 
through something bad, You say and 
you hang your head
                                   C
But this song it helped you through

C                              
 I get home and I kick my books, 
          G
Fuck you knowledge
C                                 
 I was never on your team, never 
           Em
one of your fighters
                             D
I was born a romantic for a reason
                              G
Not to be loved, To be a songwriter