1. When the [D] days are cold and the cards all fold And the [Bm] saints we see are all [G] made of gold. When your [D] dreams all fail and the ones we hail Are the [Bm] worst of all and the [G] blood's run stale. [D] I want to hide the truth I want to shelter [Bm] you But with the beast in-[G] side there's nowhere we can [D] hide. No matter what...