The War Criminal Rises and Speaks Okkervil River
The main progression is:
C, G(bar), Am, F, Dm, G, Dm, F, G
The last two chords don't hold out for the full four-count. There
are two instances where this progression gets cut in half. The first
is when the song starts to climax and the last is at the end. When
this happens, play:
C, G, Am, F, G
Once again you play the last two chords quicker than the others.
The part where it gets quiet again (but the news today always
fades...) you are going to have to listen closely to b/c it changes
a lot. I believe that I have it figured out pretty well, just work
in some hammer-ons and whatnot. It sounds like they are playing with
a capo on though, so maybe this whole thing should be transcribed
with it on the fith fret...
The heart wants to [C]feel.
The heart wants to [G]hold.
The heart takes past [Am]Subway,
past Stop and Shop,past Beal's,
and calls it "coming ho[F]me."
The heart wants a tra[Dm]il
away from "alon[G]e,"
so the heart turns a s[Dm]ale
into a we[F]ll-worn mil[G]estone
towards hard-won soft furniture,
fought-for fast food,
defended end table that
holds paperbacks and back U.S. News.
The mind turns an itch
into a bruise,
and the hands start to twitch
when they're feeling ill-used.
And you're almost back now,
you can see by the signs;
from the bank you tell the temperature
and then the time,
and the billboard reads some headlines.
The head wants to turn,
to avert both its eyes,
but the mind wants to learn
of some truth that might be
inside reported crimes.
So they found a lieutenant
who killed a village of kids.
After finishing off the wives,
he wiped off his knife
and that's what he did.
And they're not claiming that
there's any excusing it;
that was thirty years back,
and they just get paid for the facts
the way they got them in.
Now he's rising and [C]not denying.
His hands are shaking, but [G]he's not crying.
And he's saying 'How [Am]did I climb
out of a life so boring i[F]nto that moment?
Please s[G]top ignoring the h[C]eart inside,
oh you readers at [G]home!
While you gasp at my [Am]bloody crimes,
please take the time
to make your heart my [F]home:
where I'm forg[Dm]iven by time,
where I'm cushioned by [G]hope,
where I'm numbed by [Dm]long drives,
where I'm talked off or [F]doped.[G]
Does the heart wants to [C]atone?
Oh, I believe that it's so,
because if I could climb back through time,
I'd restore their lives and then give back my own:
tens of times now its size
on a far distant road
in a far distant time
where every night I'm still crying,
entirely alone.'
[Am]But the news today always[G] fades away as you dri[Am]ve by,
until at d[F]innertime when you l[C]ook into her e[G]yes,
lit by e[F]vening sun - that, as u[G]sual, comes
from a[C]bove that straight, unb[C-B]roken lin[Am]e,
the horiz[G]on
- its ri[Am]sing[G]
is a g[C]ive[C-B]n,[Am]
just like your living[G].
Your heart's warm and kind.
Your mind is your own.
Our blood-spattered criminal
is inscrutable;
don't worry, he won't
rise up behind your eyes
and take wild control.
He's not of this time,
he fell out of a hole.
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