Vancouver Divorce

[D]What the hell is [G]this?
You said, "It's art, just fucking [D]mirror it."
Where did we go [G]wrong?
If not here, where [A]do we belong?
In a shot of sun off an airplane far a[G]bove her?
In the glint of a foot-burnished manhole [A]cover?
In a light, a sign of one kind or a[G]nother?
In the gleaming eye of a fighter or a [D]lover?
Sitting here at the [G]Hortons,
so you know this is [A]impor[D]tant.
If not here, then [G]where?
If not now, then [A]when?
When a feather's an immovable [G]force?
When the stampede's an obstacle [A]course?
When Ancient Train has hit Ol' Transient [G]Horse?
When we're a Vancouver di[D]vorce?

Now that we've hammered the last spike
and we've punched the railroad through,
thought there'd be more to say,
thought there'd be more to do.
I love your paintings -- don't take your colours away.
I've grown more fearful of them every day.
Swimming up their dark rivers to discover your source,
a source of strange and unrequited remorse.
And I found the end of the world, of course,
but it's not the end of the world, of course.
It's just a Vancouver divorce.
It's just a Vancouver divorce.