Chords
The Sound Of The Markets Crashing

Key: A

Introduction: A    D    A    D    A    

difficulty
easy |||||
                             D                                                            A  
I've been looking for something to hang on to
                          D                                                            A  
Looking underneath the sunset of red, orange and blue
                     D                                                                    A  
As the skies turn black and the winds gently cool
                  D                                                                                      A  
I see nothing in the distance 'cept the burning of fuel
                  D                                                                                 A  
Which rolls out of the wires and then into our brains
                             D                                                            A  
Fills our children's minds with regret and with shame
                                  D                                                                              A  
Till they're dreaming of things which they can't understand
                                  D                                                                      A  
And they're standing in nightclubs with knives in their hands
                  D                                                         A  
So parliament's hung, I say hang them in chains
  D                                                              A  
Try them for murder and capital gains and
  D                                                                                 A  
Don't let them down 'til their eyes fill with tears
                     F#m                         G#m              A  
And the sound of the markets crashing
D      A  
verse 2
          D                                                                      A  
But I don't really care see I don't really mind
                D                                                                                    A  
Cuz there's nothing but hounds in the election line
D                                                                    A  
As for the edges of these oceans so deep
                  D                                                                    A  
I say open the gates this land is not ours to keep
                     D                                                                                      A  
Because borders they are nothing except a fence around a hole
                          D                                                                    A  
Where the thieves keep all of the jewels that they stole
                        D                                                                            A  
And the walls of Westminster they are painted with blood
                          D                                                                      A  
And they shine with the souls of the slaves that we rob
                     D                                                                            A  
And the businessman's empire now lies cold in the mud
                     D                                                                                            A  
And he can't ask for forgiveness because he doesn't have a god,
                          D                                                                    A  
Except the money in his pockets and his first true love
                        F#m                         G#m              A  
And the sound of the markets crashing
D         A  
verse 3
                  D                                                                            A  
Well I'm heading for the hills, I'm selling my TV
                                D                                                                      A  
Because I'm tired of being told to buy things I don't need
             D                                                                            A  
And I know they will accuse me of apathy
                     F#m              G#m                    A  
But my feet were made for walking
                     D                                                                      A  
And I'm not coming back until they see what we are
                     D                                                                 A  
Just a lost little species who stares at the stars
                     D                                                                            A  
No I'm not coming back until there's nothing at all,
                                F#m                         G#m              A  
Except the sound of the markets crashing
                                F#m                            G#m         A  
Except the sound of the empire crashing
                             F#m                                         G#m              A  
Except the sweet sound of the markets crashing