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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. SongtexteLittle 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. Aus Songtexte Mania