Well I've been living in this month of Sundays
For so long I don't remember Saturday night.
Broken records don't play new tunes
Except for once in a blue Moon.
And I've looked, but the Moon is still white.
And I've pinned some hope to the summit of some day,
That someone somewhere may do something with this life.
Smokers lungs don't blow baloons
Except for once in a blue Moon.
And I've looked, but the moon is still white.
Rusty guns fire rusty shots,
Leopards never change their spots,
Fireworks always fade too soon.
Empty words don't mean a lot,
But for me that's all you've got.
Well I swear to you darling one day,
We'll stand beneath a blue Moon.
Well I've been living in this month of Sundays,
And I forget what Monday morning feels like.
Blushing brides and handsome grooms,
Deep in debt from honeymoons,
Stare above, but the Moon is still white.
And I have wondered into wondering if one day,
When the war is won and one finally make two.
Will we think not of what we're not,
And think of only of what we've got,
And we'll go dancing underneath the blue Moon.
Oh black kettles and black pots,
Seem to fight an awful lot.
They make the kitchen the most uncomfortable of rooms.
Empty words don't mean a lot,
But for me that's all you've got,
But I swear to you darling one day,
We'll stand beneath the blue moon.
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh
So I've been living in this month of Sundays,
And I don't know when this month may be through.
But will you tell me that you'll wait,
For as long as it may take.
And I swear darling, I'll show you a blue Moon,
Oh my darling, I'll show you a blue Moon.

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