Johnny Cash

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Capo 2nd fret

  A
Lord, I've never lived where churches grow,
                                 E
I loved creation better as it stood,
E
that day you finished it so long ago,
                                           A
and looked upon your work and called it good.
      A
I know that others find you in the light,
                                           E
that sifted down through tinted window panes,
E
and yet I seem to feel you near tonight
                                       A
in this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.
     A
I thank you, Lord, that I'm placed so well,
                                     E
that you've made my freedom so complete,
E
that I'm no slave to whistle, clock or bell,
                                    A
nor weak-eyed prisoner of Waller Street.
        A
Just let me live my life as I've begun,
                                    E
and give me work that's open to the sky,
E
make me a partner of the wind and sun,
                                       A
and I won't ask a life that's soft or high.
       A
Let me be easy on the man that's down,
                                   E
let me be square and generous with all,
E
I'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,
                                     A
but never let ‘em say I'm mean or small.
    A
Make me as big and open as the plains,
                                      E
and honest as the horse between my knees,
E
clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,
                                           A
free as the hawk that circles down the breeze.
       A
Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget,
                                     E
you know about the reasons that are hid,
E
you understand the things that gall or fret,
                                          A
well, you knew me better than my mother did.
      A
Just keep an eye on all that's done or said,
                                      E
and right me sometimes when I turn aside,
E
and guide me on that long, dim trail ahead
                                          A
that stretches upward toward the great divide

Chorus:
                              A
Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,
                                  E
these words came low and mournfully
                                   A
from the pallid lips of a youth who lay
    E                            A
on his dying bed at the close of day.
 N.C         A
Oh, bury me not, and his voice failed there,
                                     E
but we took no heed to his dying prayer,
                                  A
in a shallow grave just six by three,
  E                              A
we buried him there on the lone prairie.