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.