I know some stories that were told when I was young and full of wonder, in blue pajamas head to toe, before my heart was plundered. There was a woman and a man. Their paradise was unencumbered. They made a pile of demands that they could not climb out from under.
You say that you’ll come back again. You may be sure, but I am surer that you will not. But if you do, I’ll be here waiting for you all dressed in blue.
They wanted glass and rock and steel, they wanted more than they were given. They saw a city on a hill, but they could only build a prison. With men in blue they filled it up, half of them caught, half of them captors. All that once mattered was forgot, and to forget was all that mattered.
You say that you’ll come back again. You may be sure, but I am surer that you will not. But if you do, I’ll be here waiting for you all dressed in blue.
Bursting through the doorway, blowing on your horn, roust the little blue boy sleeping in the corn. Nobody is watching the chickens at the grill. Sheep are in the walk-in, cow is in the till.
I’ve heard that we are born alone, but when we die we see the angels. Why couldn’t they come say hello just once between the big occasions? I would put on my suit of blue and I would line up the libations, and I would hope to somehow prove that no one is beyond salvation.
You say that you’ll come back again. You may be sure, but I am surer that you will not. But if you do, I’ll be here waiting for you all dressed in blue. I know you won’t, but if you do, I’ll be here waiting for you, all dressed in blue.