Mark Knopfler

I'm Through With Love

Mark Knopfler

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Tom: E  

E
5.15 a.m. 
                      A
snow laying all around 

a collier cycles home 
                               E
from his night shift underground
E
past the silent pub

primary school, workingmens club 
A
on the road from the pithead 
     F#m         
the churchyard packed 
             B7
with mining dead
E
then beneath the bridge 

he comes to a giant car 
   A                      fis
a shroud of snow upon the roof
             E
a mark ten jaguar
A
he thought the man was fast asleep
E       
silent, still and deep
                A                     
both dead and cold
      F#m
shot through 
              B7
with bullet holes
   F#m              C#m
the one armed bandit man
                        A
came north to fill his boots

came up from cockneyland 

e-type jags and flashy suits
   F#m
put your money in 

pull the levers

watch them spin
A
cash cows in all the pubs
                               B7
but he preferred the new nightclubs


E
nineteen sixty-seven
                              A
bandit men in birdcage heaven 

la dolce vita, sixty-nine
                          E
all new to people of the tyne
E
who knows who did what 
                                    

somebody made a call
      A 
they said his hands 
             F#m      
were in the pot
                          E
that he’d been skimming hauls
fis
he picks up the swag
       

they gaily gave away
A
drives his giant jag 
   F#m             B7
off to his big pay day
F#m        C#m
the bandit man
               A
came north to fill his boots

came up from cockneyland 

e-type jags and flashy suits
   F#m
the bandit man
A
came up the great north road
                  

up to geordieland
   F#m
to mine 
            B7
the mother lode

E
seams blew up or cracked
                            A
black diamonds came hard won

generations toiled and hacked 
                          E
for a pittance and black lung
   F#m
crushed by tub or stone

together and alone
A
how the young and old 

 
  F#m               B7
paid the price of coal
E
eighteen sixty-seven
                      A
my angel’s gone to heaven

he’ll be happy there
                             E
sunlight and sweet clean air
E
they gather round the glass 
                   A
tough hewers and crutters

child trappers and putters
                             E
the little foals and half-marrows
A
who pushed 
               C#m
and pulled the barrows
A
the hod boys 
               E
and the rolleywaymen 

5.15 a.m.
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