4+20

 D 
Four and twenty years ago, I come into this life, 
the son of a woman and a man who lived in strife. 
        F    G         D 
He was tired of bein' poor, 
        F           G               D 
and he wasn't into sellin' door to door, 
        F               G           D 
and he worked like the devil to be more. 
 
A different kind of poverty now upsets me so; 
night after sleepless night, I walk the floor and I want to know, 
why am I so alone? 
Where is my woman, can I bring her home? 
Have I driven her away?  Is she gone? 
 
Morning comes the sunrise and I'm driven to my bed. 
I see it is empty and there's devils in my head. 
I embrace the many-colored beast. 
I grow weary of the torment can there be no peace? 
And I find myself just wishing that my life would simply cease.