Title: William, It Was Really Nothing
Subtitle:
Artist: The Smiths
Album: Hatful of Hollow
Author: Morrissey/Johnny Marr
Copyright: 1984 Bona Relations Ltd. / Marr Songs Ltd.
Tabled by: Barbapapouille
Instructions:
Notices: If you want to print the vocal part (channel 1), you
must put the capo on 0 et answer NO.

Tempo: 132 BPM
Tracks: 7
Instruments:
Bars: 65

Lyric

William holds his palm out proud
Upon the Bible, lays it down
And solemnly swears against it
That every word is true
Searching through the faceless crowd
In the hallowed auditorium
He sees that everyone is turned against him
And his endless pursuit
The saga that he spells out
Has mothers grabbing children
Grown men twisting mustaches
As priests smooth out their suits
But William hammers right along
And ignores the banging gavel of
The judges plea for order
In the chaos of the room

Outside my cell
There is an oak that grows
Through the fence line
And towards the sun
They built a barrier of barbs
Flush butted against its bark
And still its burls unfurled
Into branches strong
The silver thorns that hem in my hole
Snare me here through sun and snow
While barbs may scar
They cannot stop the mighty oak
Burgeoning upward and out
Disfigured no doubt
The persistent sapling made stout
By its daggered escape route
Once it finally stands tall
Its limbs will make the fence fall
The slowest getaway car
That the guard ever saw
The warden scratches his bald patches
And raises arms in the air
He wonders how this happened
Despite decades to prepare
In this I found the faith
That you'd see my sentence a mistake
Discharge me from this place
And reinstate me in your grace
The truth will set you free one day
My Father promised me
But I'd never thought
The truth would come this way, quite honestly

William holds his palm out proud
Upon the Bible, lays it down
And solemnly swear against it
That every word is true
Searching through the faceless crowd
In the hallowed auditorium
He sees that everyone is turned against him
And his endless pursuit

If you had told me back then
That the words from my pen
Would've branded me a paynim
I would never changed a damn thing
I am sure it's shocking to your ears
That the treaties you revere
Would suffer such assessment
At the stylus of confrére
But I am more than well aware
How you all were unprepared
To stare into the sun
As it means to pick apart its flares
With my covenant in question
And career upon the line
I will suffer your reckless sanctions
With the clarity of mind
That the charges that you lay
Against my character of faith
Will burden you with shame
When you face the presumed paradise
And He knows, well as I
That His heralds can carol flat songs
The refrains ring familiar
But the words just seem a tad wrong
God is just a breath away
He lives a kiss from your lips
but his message can mutate
as it drifts from mount to chisel tips
So this is it
My suffrage sings its swan song
Your suspicions set me sovereign
From the restriction of your sad bonds
While you edit me from existence
For continuity
May the Lord be always in your footsteps
To document your lunacy

William holds his palm out proud
Upon the Bible, lays it down
And solemnly swears against it
That every word is true
Searching through the faceless crowd
In the hallowed auditorium
He sees that everyone is turned against him
And his endless pursuit
The saga that he spells out
Has mothers grabbing children
Grown men twisting mustaches
As priests smooth out their suits
But William hammers right along
And ignores the banging gavel of
The judges plea for order
In the chaos of the room