Poor Fractured Atlas

D D D D / Dm Dm Dm Dm D he’s out in the woods with his squirrel gun Dm to try and recapture his anger G he’s screaming some words at the top of his lungs Em A until he begins to feel younger F#dim Em but back at his desk in the city we find F#dim Em our trembling punch - drunken fighter B7 Em B7 Em who can’t find the strength now to punish the length G A of the ribbon in his little typewriter * G A poor fractured atlas A D threw himself across the mattress G A waving his withering pencil A D as if it were a pirate’s cutlass Dm C G i’m almost certain A# A D he’s trying to increase his burden Em B7 Em A he said "that’s how the child in me planned it , A7 D A C G A# A . . . a woman wouldn’t understand it" i believe there was something that i wanted to say before i conclude this epistle but you would forgive me for holding my tongue ’cause man made the blade and the pistol yes , man made the waterfall over the dam to temper his tantrum with magic now you can’t be sure of that tent of azure since he punched a hole in the fabric G A poor fractured atlas A D threw himself across the mattress G A waving his withering pencil A D as if it were a pirate’s cutlass Dm C G i’m almost certain A# A D he’s trying to increase his burden Em B7 Em A he said "that’s how the child in me planned it , A7 D A C G A# A . . . a woman wouldn’t understand it" D A D A7 D A C G A# A D A D . . . a woman wouldn’t understand it