Blues

I'm always reading and hearing the blues
I don't really know what they are
I know it's a colour and they write sad songs
And I'll play them upon my guitar
To apply a bright hue to your misery
Does an injustice to the shade
When it describes the sea's natural beauty
And it's of blue that the sky is made
Why not call them the greys
Or in severe cases the blacks
When disappointment's interrupting
And threatening to widen the cracks
Do they swirl around in your beer
Discolour the ice in your glass
Is blue the shade of a cocktail made
That'll knock you on your ass
But there's no way to move or change
The way this emotion is seen
For it's only gonna sound strange
If I start singing the greens
Blue it seems, is the colour
And the best choice by far
Of shades to stain your whiskey
And batter an old guitar
Whatever colour suits the feeling
While you're choosing here's the news
I suppose we'll all know at some point
What it is to sing the blues...