Chords
O Pugilista

Key: D

Introduction:

difficulty
easy |||||
             Db                                                                                                            Ab/C            Bbm7  
A minha luta, minha história vou contar,
                     Ab                                                                                                         Gb                                              Ab                              Db      Ab/C  
Esgotei as minhas forças, por um monte de mentiras e promessas
                                        Bbm7                              Ab                    Gb  
Sem refletir, o homem ouve o que quer ouvir,
                                                                  Db                              Ab4/7    Ab    Ab4/7    Ab  
E esquece tudo mais, tudo mais.
                                     Db                                                                                                                    Bbm7  
Quando eu sai de casa, era quase um rapaz,
                             Ab                                                                                 Gb                                                                                         Db  
Tão sozinho entre estranhos, correndo assustado pela estação,
                Bbm7                         Ab                                                    Gb  
Na pior freqüentando os becos sujos,
                                                                                     Db                              Ab                         Gb                                                            Db  
Onde os miseráveis vão, procurando as dicas que só eles dão.
Db                                                                                                                                                                                 Bbm7  
Exigindo um bom salário, um emprego procurei,
                                  Ab                                                                                                            Gb                                                                                                    Db  
Qual o que não deu em nada, a não ser o olhar das putas na avenida,
Bbm7                                                              Ab                            Gb                                                                                            Db  
Cá entre nós, muitas vezes tão sozinho eu me consolava lá.
Db                                                                                                                                                      Bbm7  
Hoje os anos passam, martelando sem cessar,
                                          Ab                                                                                    Gb  
Sou mais velho do que era, mais jovem que serei,
                                             Db                    Bbm7                                                                                 Ab                                    Gb  
Mas isso é natural, nada de estranho nós mudamos e mudamos,
                                                                                             Db                                    Ab4/7    Ab    Ab4/7    Ab  
Mas no fundo é tudo igual, tudo igual.
                                Db                                                                                                                                         Bbm7                    Ab  
Tiro as roupas de inverno, com o desejo de partir para casa,
                                        Gb                                                                                              Db  
Onde os ventos da cidade não vão me ferir,
Bbm7                                            Ab4/7    Ab    Ab4/7    Ab  
Me pedir pra voltar...
                        Db                                                                                                                                         Bbm7  
E no ringue um pugilista, lutador por profissão,
                  Ab                                                                                                 Gb                                                 Ab  
Ele guarda as lembranças, das luvas que os jogaram ao chão,
             Db                                                                                                                                                                      Bm7  
Bateram até gritar de dor, com raiva e humilhação.
                                                  Ab                                                         Gb  
Vou me embora, vou me embora,
                                                                                Db                                    Ab  
Mas o lutador não vai, não vai não,
Gb                                            Db  
Não, não vai não!