If I Could Make It Work

    Bm            D                       A                          F#
    I sit on a piano stool, and I make up songs for these men
    F#sus F#                G                 D            A
    Who come in with dust on their faces and mud on their boots
                         G           Em         F#      F#sus  F#
    From these places that I'll never go.
    Bm              D                          A                F#
    I sleep in a rented bed, with a woman who gives me
             F#sus F#            G                   D          A
    What little I get of the love that we'd like to imagine
                         G              Em            F#     F#sus  F#
    Is left of the love that we never did know.
       G                                              D                          A2
    I slip out and scribble a note that reads like a million bucks.
    Em                  F#                                 Em
    It's a four cent nickel for my dime store thief
    But it sure reads good

                          Bm                    G D                        A2
    And If I could make it work in life like it works on paper.
              Bb                  F                   Gm              Asus
    If the love that I describe could be anything but words
                          Bm                      G
    Then I would wipe my eyes, I'd dry this ink,
         Bm                            G
    I'd trade my pen in on a pair of wings.
                        D            A
    And I would,  I would fly
     Em                  G                    F#
    If I could only make it work in life

    And at the end of every night, I add up the tips
    That account for what might not come down to a thing
    That amounts to a life, and the sum of it all
    I'm afraid is less than what I know
    I need to slip beneath the surface of my forgeries
    Where I buried my hopes with sometimes my dreams
    Still stir me and steal me away.
    And I can still hear Dineh Bikeyah call
    Just like when we were kids.
    And I could tell you all about it in a song.
    But Lord, I wish that

Words and music by Rich Mullins, Beaker, and Mitch McVicker
© 1996, Kid Brothers of St. Frank (ASCAP)