His Thunder

F#m    E       F#m       E
I’m a mat and I still retain
F#m           E            C#m
Accumulated stories of the tawdry 
years
F#m               E       F#m   
I’ve been stamped out by 
    E
rum-fuelled boots
F#m           E        C#m
The brute, us hiding under stairs.
                 A    E    C#m
Waiting for his thunder to hit
                 A    E           
Waiting for his thunder and 
   C#m
thinking is this it?
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                 A    E    C#m
Waiting for his thunder to shout
                 A    E    C#m
Waiting for his thunder to tire 
itself out.

So I lie flat, in sheets worn thin
By his sublimations that reside 
within
For I’m the truth, the two in ten
That suffer at the whims of the 
weakest men.

Waiting for his thunder…

A              E         A      
Each bruise I use as a chronicle
     E             Fm
 of all that you gave me now
A           E         A          
And every scar a reminder of the 
 E             C#m
power that you had
The saddest part about the darkest 
hours
The implication that the fault was 
ours.