Always blue

after he woke from the night before
knowing his head was big and sore,
vowing he’d never drink no more,
he noticed the room was blue

as he sat up in his bed
and questioned the stupid things he’d said
even as he put his hands in his head
he wished the place wasn’t blue

existential dread! he screamed
remembered the haunting ghosts he’d dreamed
and knew that his soul could not be redeemed
in a room that was lightning blue

so off he went along the street
past the lamp-post where the prostitutes greet,
his legs felt limp like slabs of meat
and the doors to the shops stayed blue

where he went I do not know
or whether he stopped his drinking too,
perhaps he discovered a world not blue
but I heard somebody say

that although he walked a million miles
and crossed a million field and stiles
(and maybe even walked down the aisle)
his nights were always blue