You say you play a blue guitar.
It’s thought there's great poetic charm in dwelling
on what tragically-doomed creatures we are.
When the wise men came from
afar,
it was the altar fumes they were smelling.
You say you play a blue guitar
and you play things exactly as they
are,
the only story worth telling—
what tragically-doomed creatures we are;
but the wise men followed the star
to a lowly stall where beasts were dwelling.
That baby played the blue guitar
like a ringing a bell and astonished
the doctors,
who threw out the nostrums they’d been selling,
philtres of what tragically-doomed creatures we are.
And all the promoters nearly
fell off the floor
to hear there’s nothing special about us at all.
You say you play a blue guitar.
OK, what lovable and loving animals we are!
