From dcmst25@pop.pitt.edu Tue May 6 20:18 EDT 1997 Received: from cat (cat.nyu.edu [128.122.47.28]) by graphics.cat.nyu.edu (8.8.2/8.8.2) with SMTP id UAA06418 for ; Tue, 6 May 1997 20:18:38 -0400 (EDT) Received: from post-ofc01.srv.cis.pitt.edu by cat (SMI-8.6/SMI-SVR4) id UAA05023; Tue, 6 May 1997 20:15:54 -0400 Received: from local (root@localhost) by post-ofc01.srv.cis.pitt.edu (8.8.5/cispo-2.0.1.7) ID for hertzman@cat.nyu.edu; Tue, 6 May 1997 20:13:49 -0400 (EDT) Received: via switchmail; Tue, 6 May 1997 20:13:49 -0400 (EDT) Received: from pop.srv.cis.pitt.edu via qmail ID ; Tue, 6 May 1997 20:11:53 -0400 (EDT) Received: from Das (spg-as25s30.erols.com [207.172.38.29]) by pop.srv.cis.pitt.edu with SMTP (8.8.5/cispop-1.6.1.4) ID for ; Tue, 6 May 1997 20:11:47 -0400 (EDT) Message-Id: <1.5.4.32.19970507001035.0066d710@pop.pitt.edu> X-Sender: dcmst25@pop.pitt.edu X-Mailer: Windows Eudora Light Version 1.5.4 (32) Mime-Version: 1.0 Date: Tue, 06 May 1997 20:10:35 -0400 To: hertzman@cat.nyu.edu From: Dave Madden Subject: Humid Press of Days Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Length: 1915 Status: OR Tab by rune.hoiland Chords by Clay Petsche Lyrics by Riff: Bm A D G# e-----------5-7-9-------------5-7- B-----5-7-------------5-7-6-8----- G---7-----6---------7------------- D-4---------------7--------------- Fill: B-----3-1(bend)- G---2----------- D-4------------- F#m F#m What did it mean to fly (Riff) Bm A A tremor in your soul D G# F#m (Fill) To resist the dull existence of gravity F#m F#m Upward bound, trees fly (Riff) Bm A Two meadows and a fields D G# F#m And the border is a simple line of hills F#m F#m A dingy calm uncoiled (Riff) Bm A Between heavens and the Earth D G# F#m F#m Whispered nonsense into your radio CHORUS: A A G# C#m Now afternoons you seldom move B A G# G# Grounded to a little bit of earth A A G# C#m And, after all, time barely crawls B A G# G# Unoccupied, between each breath it sticks What did it mean to fly When you were bound to the Earth A release from the humid press of days Now afternoons it hardly moves I wonder how you make it through each day And, after all, time barely crawls Unoccupied, between each breath it sticks What did it mean to fly A tremor in your soul To resist the dull existence of gravity What did it mean to you An early chat with death To pull your body for a moment from your soul [{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{ Dave Madden dcmst25@pop.pitt.edu http://www.pitt.edu/~dcmst25 Tasty like a raindrop, I've got the look. }][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}][{}]