There is a man with his blue guitar.
He does not play things as they are.

The people crowd with yet to say,
"Play the guitar a tune so soft,
gentle and delicate like a feather."

The man then played the blue guitar
Songs that changed not as they are.

The day was slow, the beat had dropped
It's greenish tint had dimmed.

"Why not play the blue guitar,
Things so gentle yet as they are?"

The man had blinked, and strung his string,
Slow yet sad, as the day was blue.

"Songs played on my blue guitar,
Are changed from what they truly are."

Why did this man so full of sorrow
String his string so less.

"Why play this blue guitar
If things are changed from as they are?'

One more pluck, a chord was strung.
They day had turned a blue.

"The songs I play on this blue guitar,
Are meant to change from as they are."