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Yardsale

The Avett Brothers
Version1
90

Chords in this song

Strum
D-DU-UDU
 I wonder  if this blade ran through  someone's side
 The blood  wiped away to hide
How  evil you  grandfather  was 'fore he  died
 But war  can make monsters out  of us all
 I'm  sure I'd become one if  I  was called
 And then  it would be  my blade
 Here at this  yardsale
 The guitar I am holding is way out of tune
 The neck it is warped and the saddle is through
 I wonder if sweet music ever was played
 From the hands of a boy to a girl in the shade
 From this rickety ghost of a song
 Here at this yardsale
 A dollar for anything here on this quilt
 A price tag for hands from which all things are built
 A blanket of voices speak pleasure in shame
 Flowers of plastic and fruit of the same
 A basket of nothing at all
 Here at this yardsale
 So if I had the money I'd buy everything
 And cover the whole lot with good gasoline
 And burn it for all that I care for the past
 And rid mother earth of what never should last
 And give her the present of ash
 Made of a yardsale

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Readable chord sheet for Yardsale by The Avett Brothers

I [C]wonder if this blade ran t[F]hrough someone's side
The [Dm]blood wiped away to [Fadd]hide[G]
[F]How e[Fadd]vil [G]you grandfat[F]her was 'f[Fadd]ore [G]he die[F]d
But w[C]ar can make monsters o[F]ut of us al[C]l
I[Dm]'m sure I'd become one [Fadd]if I[G] was cal[F]led
And t[C]hen it would [Dm]be my bl[G]ade
Here at this[Fmaj7] yards[C]ale

The guitar I am holding is way out of tune
The neck it is warped and the saddle is through
I wonder if sweet music ever was played
From the hands of a boy to a girl in the shade
From this rickety ghost of a song
Here at this yardsale

A dollar for anything here on this quilt
A price tag for hands from which all things are built
A blanket of voices speak pleasure in shame
Flowers of plastic and fruit of the same
A basket of nothing at all
Here at this yardsale

So if I had the money I'd buy everything
And cover the whole lot with good gasoline
And burn it for all that I care for the past
And rid mother earth of what never should last
And give her the present of ash
Made of a yardsale

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