You can‘t write a novel from a briefcase,
You can write a poem from a trench,
You can dream a dream from a to b,
But you can‘t catch a bus from a bench.
You don‘t back a horse called striding snail,
You don‘t name your boat titanic ii.
So why when i see your happy smiling face,
Do i always end up singing little blue.
Little blue, how do you do.
Your smile looks like heaven,
But your eyes hold a storm about to brew.
Little blue,
How can a flower so pretty,
Be so laden down with dew.
Little blue,
How can a flower so beautiful,
Be wo laden down with dew.
Little blue.
You can‘t build a brewery on a cemetary,
You can build a pub on a church,
And people fall quicker than buildings do,
You have to decide what comes first.
You don‘t call a plane the flying roman,
‘cause the romans always walked and never flew.
So why when i see your happy smiling face,
Do i always end up singing little blue.
Little blue, how do you do.
Your smile looks like heaven,
But your eyes hold a storm about to brew.
Little blue,
How can a flower so pretty,
Be so laden down with dew.
Little blue,
How can a flower so beautiful,
Be wo laden down with dew.
Little blue.
Well bukowski wrote a story from a barstool,
And keats from the top af a hill.
So i‘m going to save my special song for you,
From a grave where it‘s quiet and it‘s chill.
‘cause there‘s a queue of clouds assembled
On the horizon of your smile.
Where most think that your holding back,
I know your holding bile.
Little blue, how do you do.
Your smile looks like heaven,
But your eyes hold a storm about to brew.
Little blue,
How can a flower so pretty,
Be so laden down with dew.
Little blue,
How can a flower so beautiful,
Be wo laden down with dew.
Little blue.