Seas Too Far to Reach

  
The 

A
ladies in my dream are so ob

D
liging.

  
They 

E
come on down to 

D
do the things I 

A
ne

E
ed.

  
Whether 

A
skies are calm or cut apart by 

D
lightning,

  
they’re 

E
always there to 

D
minister to 

A
me. 

F♯m
And at break of 

D
dawn they’re sweetly 

A
shining,

F♯m
and at quiet of 

D
midnight, cold and di

E
m,

  
they say “don’t harm 

D
him.”

  
And when I 

E
wake just as their eyes are crying, 

A
 

  
I see that 

F♯m
bed and I just 

D
want to climb back 

E
in.

  
But let’s 

F♯m
gather up your 

D
friends and drive up 

A
to that country 

E
inn.

  
We can 

F♯m
stay there, feeling 

D
water warmly 

A
wash across our 

E
skin,

  
giving back 

D
all of our 

E
tears so that we can 

A
cry them again.

  
You want to 

A
tell your dad you can’t believe he’s 

D
dying,

  
but let’s just 

E
walk on down the 

D
hall and shut our 

A
mo

E
uths.

  
The AM 

A
radio is broken down and 

D
crying

  
as on this 

E
hour drive we’re 

D
silent to our

A
selves. 

  
Let’s go 

F♯m
back up to your 

D
house, take our 

A
clothes off,

  
and just 

F♯m
push and pull our

D
selves until we’re 

E
deep

  
inside of 

D
sleep.

  
And with your 

E
body next to me, its sleepy sighing 

A
 

  
sounds like 

F♯m
waves upon a 

D
sea too far to 

E
reach.

  
But I’ll 

F♯m
gather up my 

D
men and try to 

A
sail on it a

E
gain,

  
and we’ll 

F♯m
walk and quietly 

D
talk all through the 

A
country of your 

E
skin,

  
made up of 

F♯m
pieces of the 

D
places that you’ve 

A
dreamed and that you’ve 

E
been.

  
We will 

F♯m
sleep outside in 

D
tents upon this 

A
unfamiliar 

E
land,

  
and in the 

D
morning we’ll a

E
wake, as a 

F♯m
foreign dawning 

D
breaks,

  
my men and 

A
I we will a

E
wake and try 

A
again.