requested in the Cowpie Newsletter, I haven't done this song in years, but
this is how I used to do it.
Keep Picking,
Dan Mooney - Portland, Oregon
Yesterday When I Was Young
Yester[Gm]day when I was [C7]young, the taste of life was [Fmaj7]sweet as
rain upon my [Bb]tongue, I teased at life as [Em7]if it were a foolish
[A7]game, the way an evening [Dm]breeze may tease a candle flame.
The thousand dreams I [Gm]dreamed, the splendid things I [C7]planned, I
always built [Fmaj7]alas, on weak and shifting [Bb]sand, I lived by night
and [Em7]shunned the naked light of [A7]day, and only now I [Dm]see how the
years ran away.
Yester[Gm]day when I was [C7]Young, so many drinking [Fmaj7]songs were
waiting to be [Bb]sung, so many wild [Gm]pleasures lay in store for [A7]me,
and so much pain my [Dm]dazzled eyes refused to see.
I ran so fast that [Gm]time and youth at last ran [C7]out, I never stopped
to [Fmaj7]think what life was all [Bb]about, and every conver[Gm]sation I
can now re[A7]call, concerned itself with [Dm]me, and nothing else at all.
Yester[Gm]day the moon was [C7]blue, and every crazy [Fmaj7]day brought
something new to [Bb]do, I used my magic [Em7]age as if it were an [A7]wand,
and never saw the [Dm]waste and emptiness beyond.
The game of love I [Gm]played, with arrogance and [C7]pride, and every flame
I [Fmaj7]lit too quickly, quickly [Bb]died, the friends I made all
[Em7]seemed, some how to drift [A7]away, and only I am [Dm]left, on stage to
end the play.
There are so many [Gm]songs in me that won't be [A7]sung, I feel the bitter
[Dm]taste, of tears upon my [G]tongue, the time has come for [Gm]me pay for
[Dm]yesterday, when [A7]I [Gm]was [Dm]young [Gm]
