well blue-face blues lose the buckles on your boots
i've been trying to reach you all week
the kites carry kittens through the donner and blitzen
on a cold christmas day in their beaks
chained to the rock by my own two hands
i want to fly by the seat of your pants
are you ready to go?
come on

yeah blue-face blue there's a tree filled with fruit
and i can see no cause to abstain
the northern shovelers and the torch-throated warblers
plot a course like cortez of spain
i'm a copycat and i want to head south
ruffle your feathers as i run my mouth
are you ready to go?
come on

well it's alright

blue-faced blue got to get to the root
of all this whirling wildness and woe
the man in the belfry wants a lap in the country
when the red reads twenty below
chained to the rocks by my own two hands
i want to fly by the seat of your pants
are you ready to go?
come on