C#m
I’m in the rafters looking down
E
It’s cold up here
B
Between walls of stone
Amaj7
I made my home
A C#m E
And the air hangs heavy with the incense
B
Feathers fall from pigeons
A
Cooing in the tower
C#m
I rarely go down there
E
The view’s just so beautiful from here
Amaj7 Amaj7 Am A B Amaj7
And i can see everybody at their worst points
At their worst points
A C#m
I’m not a sadist
E
I enjoy just being able to be witness
Of the loneliness and fear
B
I abhor in case there isn’t one
Amaj7
In case there isn’t one
C#m
I’m not a higher power
I just live in the ceiling
E C#m
Cause i’m lonely on the fringes
E B
And it gives my life some meaning in the exile
G#m A Amaj7
In my exile
C#m A C#m
The grey light filters through slabs
E
And the flagstones glow
B
Bright from the stained glass
A
A hundred feet below
C#m E
As i tiptoe creaking over prayers
B
Pleading with their maker
A
Crying with the choir
C#m
I’m not immune to the sincerity
E
Below me, makes me feel
It makes me holy
But the tears i understand
B
That i do not below
Amaj7
No i do not belong
C#m
Watching the figures all the saints
E
But mostly sinners come and go
Some are desperate
B
But the others have the sense that they do belong
Amaj7
And i do not belong
C#m
Some only talk towards the heavens
E
When the end is feeling desperate
Have the overwhelming feeling
B
That there's nobody who's looking down
Amaj7
At least i’m looking down
[outro]
A C#m
C# A E
C#
E
I'm in the rafters looking down
It's cold up here
Between walls of stone
I made my home
And the air hangs heavy with the incense
Feathers fall from pigeons
Cooing in the tower
I rarely go down ther, the view's just so beautiful from here
And I can see everybody at their worst points
At their worst points
I'm not a sadist, I enjoy just being able to be witness of the loneliness and fear
I abhor in case there isn't one
In case there isn't one
I'm not a higher power, I just live in the ceiling 'cause I'm lonely on the fringes
And it gives my life some meaning in the exile
In my exile
The grey light filters through slabs
And the flagstones glow
Bright from the stained-glass
A hundred feet below
As I tiptoe creaking over prayers
Pleading with their maker
Crying with the choir
I'm not immune to the sincerity below me, makes me feel, it makes me holy
But the tears I understand that I do not below
No I do not belong
Watching the figures, all the saints, but mostly sinners come and go
And some are desperate, but the others have the sense that they do belong
And I do not belong
Some only talk towards the heavens when the end is feeling desperate
Have the overwhelming feeling
That there's nobody who's looking down
At least I'm looking down
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