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Subject:_CRD:_m/don_mclean/homeless_brother.crd
Date:_Tue,_13_Feb_1996_14:12:41_+0100
From:_Juergen_Wuest_(HiWi_CEMP)_
Homeless_Brother_-_Don_McLean
-----------------------------
>From_his_live_album_`SOLO.
______A_________________________D
I_was_walking_by_the_graveyard,_late_last_Friday_night,
__F#_________________________Bm
I_heard_somebody_yelling,_it_sounded_like_a_fight.
_______G______________D____________Bm_____________G
It_was_just_a_drunken_hobo_dancing_circles_in_the_night,
________D______________A__________G_______________D
Pouring_whiskey_on_the_headstones_in_the_blue_moonlight.
___G____________A____________________D_________________Bm
So_often_have_I_wondered_where_these_homeless_brothers_go,
E_____________________________________A___________________G#
Down_in_some_hidden_valley_were_their_sorrows_cannot_show,
__________G_____________D____________________Bm_____________G
Where_the_police_cannot_find_them,_where_the_wanted_men_can_go.
________D_________________A________G__________________________D
Theres_freedom_when_your_walking,_even_though_youre_walking_slow.
___G______________________A______________D______________Bm
___Smash_your_bottle_on_a_gravestone_and_live_while_you_can,
___E_____________A_____________D
___that_homeless_brother_is_my_friend.
Its_hard_to_be_a_pack_rat,_its_hard_to_be_a_bo,
but_livings_so_much_harder_where_the_heartless_people_go.
Somewhere_the_dogs_are_barking_and_the_children_seem_to_know
That_Jesus_on_the_highway_was_a_lost_hobo.
And_they_hear_the_holy_silence_of_the_temples_in_the_hill,
And_they_see_the_ragged_tatters_as_another_kind_of_thrill.
And_they_envy_him_the_sunshine_and_they_pity_him_the_chill,
And_theyre_sad_to_do_their_living_for_some_other_kind_of_thrill.
___Smash_your_bottle_on_a_gravestone_and_live_while_you_can,
___that_homeless_brother_is_my_friend.
Somewhere_there_was_a_woman,_somewhere_there_was_a_child,
Somewhere_there_was_a_cottage_where_the_marigolds_grew_wild.
But_somewheres_just_like_nowhere_when_you_leave_it_for_a_while,
Youll_find_the_broken-hearted_when_youre_traveling_jungle-style.
Down_the_bowels_of_a_broken_land_where_numbers_live_like_men,
Where_those_who_keep_their_senses_have_them_taken_back_again,
Where_the_nightstick_cracks_with_crazy_rage,_where_madmen_dont_pretend,
Where_wealth_has_no_beginning_and_poverty_no_end.
___Smash_your_bottle_on_a_gravestone_and_live_while_you_can,
___that_homeless_brother_is_my_friend.
The_ghosts_of_highway_royalty_have_vanished_in_the_night,
The_Whitman_wanderer_walking_toward_a_glowing_inner_light.
The_children_have_grown_older_and_the_cops_have_gripped_us_tight,
Theres_no_spot_round_the_melting_pot_for_free_men_in_their_flight.
And_you_who_leave_on_promises_and_prosper_as_you_please,
The_victim_of_your_riches_often_dies_of_your_disease,
He_cant_hear_the_factory_whistle,_just_the_lonesome_freight_trains_whirs,
Hes_living_on_good_fortune,_he_aint_dying_on_his_knees.
___Smash_your_bottle_on_a_gravestone_and_live_while_you_can,
___that_homeless_brother_is_my_friend.
___That_homeless_brother_is_my_friend.
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