Bob Dylan - Idiot wind, аккорды

From: Harlan L Thompson 
 
 IDIOT WIND- Bob Dylan
 
    Am                         B                               E
 Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press 
   Am                                        B                         E
 Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out but when they will I can only guess
       C#m           G#m                F#m             E
 They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy
  C#m             G#m               F#m               E
 She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me
           G#m            A
 I can't help it if I'm lucky
 
 People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act 
 Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts  
 Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at 
 I couldn't believe after all these years
 You didn't know me better than that, sweet lady 
 
 CHORUS #1:
  E            A                               E
 Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth
    A                                 B
 Blowing down the backroads headin' south  
  E              A                             E
 Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
                   A             B                                E
 You're an idiot babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe 
 
 I ran into the fortune teller, who said beware of lightning that might 
 Strike 
 I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's 
 Like  There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door
 You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done
 In the final end he won the war after losin' every battle 
 
 I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are 
 Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see 
 Stars  You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with 
 Lies  
 One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes
 Blood on your saddle 
 
 CHORUS #2:
 Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb
 Blowing through the curtains in your room  
 Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
 You're an idiot, babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe 
 
 It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart 
 You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my 
 Heart  
 Now everything's a little upside down
 As a matter of fact the wheels have stopped
 What's good is bad, what's bad is good
 You'll find out when you reach the top, you're on the bottom 
 
 I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind 
 I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed
 Your eyes don't look into mine  
 The priest wore black on the seventh day
 And sat stone faced while the building burned  
 I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees
 While the springtime turned slowly into autumn 
 
 CHORUS #3:
 Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull
 >From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol  
 Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
 You're an idiot, babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe 
 
 I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read 
 Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin' I was somebody else 
 Instead  Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy
 I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory 
 And all your ragin' glory 
 
 I been double crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free
 I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline
 Which separated you from me  
 You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above
 And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love
 And it makes me feel so sorry 
 
 CHORUS #4:
 Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats
 Blowing through the letters that we wrote
 Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves
 We're idiots, babe, it's a wonder we can even feed ourselves 
 
 
 (from Blood On the Tracks, 1974)
 (sent by Harlan at harlant@hawaii.edu)