I a (Ab)wake on a chill y Christ mas (Abmaj7)morn ing,

watch the (Db)choir sing ing car ols on T V.

I gaze (Fm)out through my (Fm(maj7))win dow at a (Fm7)doz en oth er win dows, then I (D)plug in my ar ti fi cial (Gsus4)tree.

And like a (Cm7)dream, I be gin to re (F13)mem ber ev ’ry (Fm7)Christ mas I used to (F)know,

a thou sand miles a (Fm)way,

a mil lion years a (A)go.

I re mem ber (Cm9)sky,

it was (Fm7)blue (F7)as (Bb)ink.

Or at (Dm)least I think

I re mem ber (F9)sky.

I re mem ber snow,

soft as feath ers,

sharp as thumb tacks,

com ing down like (Bb)lint.

And it made (Dm)you (Gm9)squint

when the wind would (F)blow.

And ice, like vi nyl, on the streets, (F)cold as sil ver, white as sheets.

Rain like strings and chang ing things, like leaves.

I re mem ber (Cm9)leaves,

green as (Fm7)spear (F7)mint,

(Fm7)crisp as (F7)pa per.

I re mem ber trees,

bare as (Fm7)coat (F7)racks, spread like (F)bro ken (F7)um (F)brel las.

And parks, and bridg es, ponds, and zoos.

Rud dy fac es, (Fm7)mud dy shoes.

Light and noise and bees and boys and (F7sus4)days.

Oh,

I re mem ber (Gm6)days,

or at (F7)least I (Bb)try.

But as years go by,

they’re a sort of haze.

And the blu est (Cm9)ink

(Fm7)is n’t (F7)real ly sky.

And at times (Dm)I think

I would glad ly (Cm7)die

for a day of

(Bb)sky.