(HeatonRotheray)

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 pretty

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