Fear of Good The Hotelier
(Verse)
[A]Skin, caked with the [C#m]sap of pine,
can't c[A]atch against my [C#m]roaring mind.
The c[A]oat slips off my e[C#m]tched spine.
It's a w[A]eight no longer c[C#m]arried
(Chorus)
and I'm f[A]reez[D]ing.
So f[A]reez[D]ing.
So f[A]reez[D]ing.
So f[A]reez[D]ing.
(Verse)
A m[A]essage to my [C#m]brother sky,
I l[A]ong to hold your [C#m]hand tonight
but when [A]up against this s[C#m]ummit's height
I'm t[A]ense, I'm small, I'm s[C#m]peechless
(Chorus)
and I'm f[A]reez[D]ing.
So f[A]reez[D]ing.
So f[A]reez[D]ing.
So f[A]reez[D]ing.
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