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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 so laden down with dew?
Little blue
You can't build a brewery on a cemetery
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
Well Bukowski wrote a story from a barstool
And Keats from the top of 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
When most think that you're holding back
I know you're 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 so laden down with dew?
Little blue
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