written by M. Timmins and The Cowboy Junkies,
submitted and transcribed in June 1998
It's the [G]kinda night that's so cold that your [C]spit
freezes be[G]fore it hits the ground.
[G]And when a bum asks for a quarter, you give a do[C]llar,
[C]'cuz if he's out tonight, he [D]must be truly down.
And I'm [C]searchin' all the windows for a last minute present
to prove to you that [Am]what I said was real...
For [D]something small and frail and plastic, [C]baby
Cause cheap is how I [G]feel.
[G]Half a moon in the sky tonight- [C]not enough
to [G]come up with an answer
to the question why is it that every time I see [C]you
my love [G]grows a little stronger.
But your [C]memory leaves my stomach turning,
feeling like a liar [D]about to be revealed...
But I [Am]hoard all this to [C]myself,
Cause cheap is how I [G]feel.
(guitar solo)
[G]It's not the smell in here that really gets to me, it's the [C]lights-
How I hate the [G]shadows that they cast.
[G]And the sound of clinking bottles is the [C]one sure thing
I'll always drag with [D]me from my past.
I think I'll [C]find a pair of eyes tonight to fall into
and [Am]maybe strike a deal:
Your [D]body for my soul, [C]face swap,
Cause cheap is how I [G]feel.
Keep on playing, gang.
Brent Wood
submitted and transcribed in June 1998
It's the [G]kinda night that's so cold that your [C]spit
freezes be[G]fore it hits the ground.
[G]And when a bum asks for a quarter, you give a do[C]llar,
[C]'cuz if he's out tonight, he [D]must be truly down.
And I'm [C]searchin' all the windows for a last minute present
to prove to you that [Am]what I said was real...
For [D]something small and frail and plastic, [C]baby
Cause cheap is how I [G]feel.
[G]Half a moon in the sky tonight- [C]not enough
to [G]come up with an answer
to the question why is it that every time I see [C]you
my love [G]grows a little stronger.
But your [C]memory leaves my stomach turning,
feeling like a liar [D]about to be revealed...
But I [Am]hoard all this to [C]myself,
Cause cheap is how I [G]feel.
(guitar solo)
[G]It's not the smell in here that really gets to me, it's the [C]lights-
How I hate the [G]shadows that they cast.
[G]And the sound of clinking bottles is the [C]one sure thing
I'll always drag with [D]me from my past.
I think I'll [C]find a pair of eyes tonight to fall into
and [Am]maybe strike a deal:
Your [D]body for my soul, [C]face swap,
Cause cheap is how I [G]feel.
Keep on playing, gang.
Brent Wood
