Standard (EADGBE)
To the doting boys by, your side
Riding roughshod on your starless nights
To she who played concertos, foul and black,
Upon my heart strings and never looked back
What became of those, wild charms?
The deep fry of the tide? The tug of the stars?
How it stares me, how it stares me now
(orG7)
To think my fire burnt them out.