F C G
I wear the customary clothes of my time,
D Bb Dm F Bb
Like Jesus did, with no reason not to die
F F7 Bb
Facing history, with little to no irony
F C Dm Bb
Like Im some forgotten southern city, Sherman razed
F C Dm Bb
Still hid under thick smoke after all these years
F F7 Dm
These hands, are my fathers hands but smaller
Bb
Soaked in paint thinner,
Dm
Until theyre so dry coming together,
Gm F
They make the sound of resisting each other
Gm Bb F Gm F
A shrill squeal like two moving rubber, tires touching
Gm F Gm F
Hide nothing, hide nothing