| A | D |
| Frozen into coats | , |
| Bm | |
| White girls of the | North, |
| G | D |
| Fire past one, | fire the one, |
| D |
| They are the fabled lambs, |
| E |
| A Sunday ham, |
| Bm |
| The ancient snow. |
| A | D | |
| And they can | float above the grass, |
| A | |
| In circles if | they tried, |
| G | D | |
| A | latent power I know | they hide, |
| D |
| To keep some hope alive, |
| E | Bm |
| That a girl like I | could ever try, |
| A | |
| Could ever | try. |
| F#m | D | E |
| So we just | skirt the hallway | signs, |
| F#m | |
| A phantom and a | fly, |
| F# | D | E |
| Follow the lines | and wonder why |
| There’s no connection. |
| A | D |
| And weakened falling eyes, |
| Bm | |
| In cheap shots from the | tribe, |
| G | D |
| And we’re often in Marcus porch | again, |
| D | E |
| Another afternoon with the gold | head tunes, |
| Bm | |
| And | pilfered booze. |
| A | D | |
| We wandered | through your mama’s | house, |
| A | |
| And the milk from the | window lights, |
| G | D | |
| Family | portrait circa ninety-five | , |
| D | |
| This is that | foreign land, |
| E | |
| With the | sprayed on tans, |
| Bm | |
| And it all | feels fine, |
| A | |
| Beats circus | slime, |
| F#m | D | E |
| So, when they | tap our mundane | heads, |
| F#m | |
| To zombie-walk in our | stead, |
| F# | D | E |
| This town seems | hardly worth our time, |
| F#m | D | E |
| And we’ll no longer | memorize or | rhyme, |
| F#m | |
| To fall along in | our crime, |
| F# | D | E |
| Stepping over what now | towers to the sky, |
| With no connection. |
| Chords for breakdown (when he ooo’s for a while) : |
| A - D - E |
| repeat chorus and breakdown a few times. |
| Source: http://tabs.ultimate-guitar.com/s/shins/phantom_limb_crd.htm |