There’s a house

that’s not on a (G)hill,

and the paint’s chip ping off

of the old win dow sill.

There’s a tree in the (C)front yard

that’s old er than (G)me,

and old er than all of you.

There’s a smell that the heat makes;

it re minds me of (G)Christ mas,

and birth days

in De (F)cem ber.

I re (C)mem ber her.

I re (Gsus)mem ber her.

I re mem ber her

so (F)well.

I re (C)mem ber her.

I re (Gsus)mem ber her.

I re (Am)mem ber her so well.

But (F)things, they (C)fade.

She would kiss my hand,

she would kiss my head,

then she’d (Am)fall a sleep with me

in my ti ny bed.

She would sing me lul la bies,

gave me my (G)ha zel eyes, and then she’d call me beau ti ful.

She made me beau ti ful.

I re (C)fade.

Things turn to (Gsus)grey.

As much as I (Am)try

to save them,

they turn to grey.

Just like the (C)house

that’s not on a (Gsus)hill,

with all of the (Am)rust on the gate

and chips on the (F)sill.

But I love it still.