It all comes back in many shades of blue...

the best ones cut the moon in...
sucker punch blues hit hard and run....
not weeks before they hit again...

we pick a seat, look round...
find the next slot and fill in the blanks...
next in line, next in line...
pick up another and turn it again....

... It's on those nights in black and red...
they all spin one way ....
through my head...
play it again - with soul..

...but the blues have run and left us dead...
limping, gutted...
nothing but the sky to take it.

And on a still night,
all is lost...
not till you hear it...
heavy on your drum another drink of real...
another one too far.

On a still night all the same, you pick it up and play it...
harder then before, to cover your mistakes.