E     B     F#    G#m
E     B     F#    F#
G#m   G#m   C#    C#
G#m   G#m   C#    C#

[Verse 1]
G#m                G#m           C#                     C#              G#m
Console me in my darkest hour,   convince me that the truth is always grey.
                  G#m           C#                    C#               E
Caress me in your velvet chair,   conceal me from the ghost you cast away.

[Chorus 1]
              B             F#                G#m         (F#)     E
I ain't in no hurry, you go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch.
                      B                    F#   F#           G#m
Fill their heads with rumours of impending doom - it must be true.

[Fill]
G#m   C#    C#

[Verse 2]
G#m                              C#                     C#             G#m
  Console me in my darkest hour,   and tell me that you always hear my cries.
                  G#m            C#                    C#          E
I wonder what you got conspired,   I'm sure it dawns a consolation prize.

[Chorus 2]
              B             F#                G#m         (F#)     E
I ain't in no hurry, you go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch.
                    B                   F#     F#7
Fill the night with stories, the legend grows,
               B     (F#)        C#m       (G#m)         E              E
of how you got lost,     but you made your way back home.
              B     (F#)       C#m     (G#m)     E                F#
You sold your soul,     like a roaming vagabond,   yeah!

[Middle Eight]
G#m                   G#m           G#m          G#m
I heard you found a wishing well,    in the city.
G#m                G#m                 G#m           G#m                 E
Console me in my darkest hour (in my darkest hour)    and you throw me down.

[Chorus 3]
              B             F#                G#m         (F#)     E
I ain't in no hurry, you go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch.
                     B        F#    F#7
Fill your crown with rumours.
          E    B    F#           G#m
Impending doom -      it must be true.
E     B     F#    F#

B   (F#)        C#m       (G#m)        E              E
        But you made your way back home.
              B     (F#)       C#m     (G#m)     E              E
You sold your soul,     like a roaming vagabond.
                      B     (F#)        C#m       (G#m)        E              E
And about how you got lost,     but you made your way back home.
                       B     (F#)      C#m     (G#m)        E              E
You went and sold your soul,     an allegiance dead and gone.

[Outro]
           B     (F#)     C#m   (G#m)    E              E

(I'm losing touch)

           B     (F#)     C#m   (G#m)    E              E
           B     (F#)     C#m   (G#m)    E              E
           B     (F#)     C#m   (G#m)    E              E
           B