With blue undertones.
Music is a choice
For all the left-alones:
All the orphaned babies
The girls with no close friends
The dogs with chronic rabies
Men on roads with no ends.
A rose is a thorn
With alluring bait set;
The same disguise worn
By snakes out to get
The lost little children
And the souls who weep
Over bones that were killed when
The mountains were still steep.
Blue is a poem.
And Blue is a song
And a color to show 'em
Where they went wrong.
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