Patterns Simon & Garfunkel
The night sets softl[Dm]y
With the hush of falling [F]le-e-[Dm]eaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the [C]trees,
And the [Dm]light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my [F]wa-a-[Dm]all,
Like the pieces of a [C]puzzle
Or a [Bb]child's [C] uneven [Dm]scrawl
Up a [Dm]narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little [F]ro-o-[Dm]oom,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening [C]gloom.
Im[Dm]paled on my wall
My eyes can dimly [F]se-e-[Dm]e
The pattern of my [C]life
And the [Bb]puzzle [C] that is [Dm]me.
From the [Dm]moment of my birth
To the instant of my [F]de-e-[Dm]eath,
There are Patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each [C]breath.
Like a [Dm]rat in a maze
The path before me [F]li-i-[Dm]ies,
And the pattern never [C]alters
Un[Bb]til [C] the rat [Dm]dies.
And the [Dm]pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness [F]fe-e-[Dm]ell,
And it's fitting that it should,
For in darknesss I must [C]dwell.
Like the [Dm]color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow [F]o-o-o-[Dm]old,
My life is made of [C]Patterns
That can [Bb]scarcely [C] be con[Dm]trolled.
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