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Many Mansions

Höfundur lags: Carol Ann Etheridge , Mark D. Sanders og Alice Randall Flytjandi: Moe Bandy Sent inn af: Anonymous

[G]Hope is a thing with feathers that [Em]perches on the soul
Said the [C]homeless young man s[G]tanding there [F]strong a[C]gainst the [G]cold
I reached into my pocket said a [Em]penny for your poetry
But when I [C]handed him a [G]dollar bill he was [F]shaking his [C]head at [G]me  
And he [F]said these [C]words to [D7]me   

In my [G]Fa-thers [D7]house are many [G]mansions
Though to[C]night some make their [G]beds along the [D7]streets
Where I´ve [G]seen lives [D7]still by [G]winters bitter [C]chill
In my [G]Fathers house there´s a [D7]mansion for [G]me  

Sleep is a silent pleasure behind doors with [Em]deadbolt locks
But it´s a [C]concrete nightmare [G]chance you take on the [F]streets
In a [C]cardboard [G]box  
But I know about the eye of the [Em]needle what will come to pass
When the [C]least of us [G]shall be first and the [F]first now [C]shall be [G]last
[F]Who´s home[C]less now I [D7]ask   

In my [G]Fa-thers [D7]house are many [G]mansions
Though to[C]night some make their [G]beds along the [D7]streets
Where I´ve [G]seen lives [D7]still by [G]winters bitter [C]chill
In my [G]Fathers house there´s a [D7]mansion for [G]me  


Hope is a thing with feathers that perches on the soul
Said the homeless young man standing there strong against the cold
I reached into my pocket said a penny for your poetry
But when I handed him a dollar bill he was shaking his head at me
And he said these words to me

In my Fa-thers house are many mansions
Though tonight some make their beds along the streets
Where I´ve seen lives still by winters bitter chill
In my Fathers house there´s a mansion for me

Sleep is a silent pleasure behind doors with deadbolt locks
But it´s a concrete nightmare chance you take on the streets
In a cardboard box
But I know about the eye of the needle what will come to pass
When the least of us shall be first and the first now shall be last
Who´s homeless now I ask

In my Fa-thers house are many mansions
Though tonight some make their beds along the streets
Where I´ve seen lives still by winters bitter chill
In my Fathers house there´s a mansion for me

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