Taylor Swift – The Tortured Poets Department (Guitar)

   C   F   G   Am  Dm
e|-3---1---3---5---5-|
B|-5---1---3---5---6-|
G|-5---2---4---6---7-|
D|-5---3---5---7---7-|
A|-3---3---5---7---5-|
E|-x---1---3---5---x-|

C
 You left your typewriter at my apartment

F
 Straight from the tourtured poets department

C                            F
 I think some things I never say

    Am                       G
 But you're in self-sabotage mode

                             C
 Throwing spikes down on the road

                       F
 But I've seen this episode and still love the show

 Am         G
 Who else decodes you?

C                          F
 And who's gonna hold you like me?

C                             F
 And who's gonna know you if not me?

Am                        G
 "You're not Dylan Thomas. I'm not Patti Smith.

C                             F
 This ain't the Chelsea Hotel. We're modern idiots."

     Am          G         C
 And who's gonna hold you like me?

   F
 Nobody

            C
 No-fucking-body

    F
 Nobody

C
 You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate

F
 We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist

C                               F
 I scratch your head, you fall asleep

Am                     G                             C
 But you awakened with dread, pounding nails in your head

                    F
 But I've read this one where you come undone

   Am           G
 I chose this cyclone with you

C                          F
 And who's gonna hold you like me? (Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?)

C                          F
 And who's gonna know you like me? (Who's gonna know you?)

Am                        G
 "You're not Dylan Thomas. I'm not Patti Smith.

C                             F
 This ain't the Chelsea Hotel. We're modern idiots."

     Am          G         C
 And who's gonna hold you like me?

C
 Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me

F
 But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave

C
 And I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen

F
 Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be

C               F
 'Cause we're crazy

            C                    F
 So tell me, who else is gonna know me?

    Am                             G
 At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger, and

               C              F
 Put it on the one people put wedding rings on

                Am                   G
 And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding

C                           F
 And who's gonna hold you? ...Me

C                           F
 And who's gonna know you? ...Me

Am                           G
 And you're not Dylan Thomas. I'm not Patti Smith.

C                             F
 This ain't the Chelsea Hotel. We're two idiots.

 Am          G    C
 Who's gonna hold you?

Am             G
 You left your typewriter at my apartment

 C                 F
 Straight from the tourtured poets department

Am          G            C   F
 Who else decodes you?