Luisa’s Bones Crooked Fingers
We came,
[Am]by the rising of the river,
on a river with no [G]name,
in the summer monsoon [Am]rain,
to wash away luisa's [E]bones,
from the ghost who guards her [Am]grave.
[Am]She lays by the ride of firing anvils,
in a house with cast iron [G]gates,
and underneath red candles [Am]weights,
for her killers to come [E]home and,
for a fine revenge to [Am]pay.
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[C]She goes for a ride,
on these [G]hills they are blind,
copper [Am]steel iron ore,
fifty [F]years maybe more,
[C]searching in the mine,
one half [G]century of lies,
you can [Am]see on the horizon she is [F]soon going home,
[G]you take the road I'll take the [Am]river,
[G]you bring the fire I'll bring the [Am]jewels,
[G]and in the evening under[Am]neath the roaring sky,
we will [E]meet and wait and pray for the monsoon,
[Am]and we will wait,
[Am]till the rising of the river,
when the summer monsoon [G]rain,
comes to wash the old rem[Am]ains,
past the beach into the [E]ocean,
for to carry us [Am]away,
setting free Luisa's [E]bones from,
from the ghost who guards her [Am]grave
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