She used to like blues
Her idol, his name was Peter Green
And I, there by mere accident
Completely alien to the scene.
She'd always look at her watch
And as soon as the hands on it met
Like a kid, she'd whisper to me
That someone, somewhere's thinking of her
In her room was a small cache of sin
Like a rainbow, bridging daftness below
Lots of books of some Czech defector
And some sports journals, if a guest comes along
Anyway, all shall pass, but the blues stays behind
The colors all dissolve when it comes on the radio
The metronome murders me, what's that clock doing here?
1:05, someone's thinking of her
Somewhere in me is a glitch
And a dark, nibbling me like a mouse
And I'm all like that glass-bowl-thing
In which it snows when you tumble it.
In this room, the balance is simple
A table, a bed, and a switch for the light
Below the price, the esteemed guest is urged
Not to forget the key before checking out
Anyway, all shall pass, but the blues stays behind
The colors all dissolve when it comes on the radio
The metronome murders me, what's that clock doing here?
1:05, someone's thinking of her
She used to like blues
Oh yes, the lucid Peter Green
And me, oh I used to love her
And blues... What? Blues?
Nothing to do with me.