A Solitary Life
Richard ThompsonVersion1
90
Chords in this song
Strum
D-DU-UDU
Sometimes I long for the solitary life
Parents long gone, no kids, no wife
Sister somewhere in Australia never did keep in touch
Sex no more than a how-do-ye-do
With a copy of Tit-Bits in the loo
Socially a bit of a failure, nice not to have to try too much
A solitary life, a life of small horizons
Dull as the pewter sky over North West Eleven
A serious hobby in the garden shed
Model trains, or soldiers in lead
Join the suburban boffins of Britain, experts on trivial things
And holidays in the Yorkshire Dales
Or cycling tours of the North of Wales
Unenvious of those flea-bitten on continental flings
Excitement comes by subtle means
The satisfaction of routines
Small revenges at the office, smug little victories
You work on your pallor, complexion like paste
Like the grey defeat on an inmates face
A life spent adding losses and profits, resigning by degrees
And come to the end, sad and alone
A steady reliable tumour youve grown
From selfish years, while all your peers have stressfully jogged to health
In life you always were quite numb
And foggier now, you soon succumb
In drab St. Barts on the new by-pass, death overcomes by stealth
Source: Songsterr · Rights holder? Request removal.
Readable chord sheet for A Solitary Life by Richard Thompson
[D]Sometimes I long for the solitary life [G]Parents long gone, no kids, no wife [A]Sister somewhere in Aust[G]ralia never did ke[D]ep in touch Sex no more than a how-do-ye-do [G]With a copy of Tit-Bits in the loo [A]Socially a bit of a f[G]ailure, nice not to have to tr[D]y too much [D]A solitary life, a l[G]ife of small h[D]orizons [Em]Dull as the [C]pewter sky o[G]ver North West El[D]even A serious hobby in the garden shed Model trains, or soldiers in lead Join the suburban boffins of Britain, experts on trivial things And holidays in the Yorkshire Dales Or cycling tours of the North of Wales Unenvious of those flea-bitten on continental flings Excitement comes by subtle means The satisfaction of routines Small revenges at the office, smug little victories You work on your pallor, complexion like paste Like the grey defeat on an inmates face A life spent adding losses and profits, resigning by degrees And come to the end, sad and alone A steady reliable tumour youve grown From selfish years, while all your peers have stressfully jogged to health In life you always were quite numb And foggier now, you soon succumb In drab St. Barts on the new by-pass, death overcomes by stealth