BLUEWHITE
Words & Music by Grayson Hugh 

                      Here we are now 
        driving through these small stick towns 
                    on a winter day. 
              Thin trees on the hill snow. 
                       Grey wood bone 
      stumps and driftwood on the frozen pond. 
              Crow stands on a pine top. 
      Shall we follow this falling of winter light? 
                And go where it takes us 
                        into the late day 
           where the snow in the shell of the afternoon 
               is a cold bluewhite.
                      Then toast the twilight 
                          pale indigo. 

                  Up in the cornstub fields 
                grey hulls of barns sleeping 
                          leaning, old. 
             Owls know where the moon is. 
                The pale iris imprint bloom. 
                    The town is melting.   
                  Pull our windows down,
       hear the tires whisper black wet smooth. 
         The brook is rising up the stone mill wall.
                   And deep in the forest 
     where the dirt road goes by the high cliff banks 
                    the moss is showing 
                     beneath the snow. 

                        I look at you. 
                   You you you you you.
                My heart starts to bloom. 
               Bloom bloom bloom bloom 
                             bloom 
                      cold bluewhite.
 
                 To the distant fields 
           our eyes travel over the valley 
              to those Bruegel woods
          where the worn light's blurring 
   the candle glow of a foxes’ fur by the stone wall spine.
                    Stars are growing.
      To where shall we go in the shadow of the night? 
               Somewhere foreign and far away.
                  At four o'clock in the morning 
                       by the lake hill shapes 
                           we're wide awake. 
                       Just our small voices
                          snow brume pines.
 
                           I look at you. 
                      You you you you you. 
                    My heart starts to bloom. 
                  Bloom bloom bloom bloom 
                                bloom 
                            I love you.
                   You you you you you. 
                           I love you. 
                     You you you you     
                               you 
                      cold bluewhite. 



© 2010 by Swamp Yankee Music/ASCAP

An American Record

Bluewhite

“Grayson Hugh is an American original, a singer-songwriter of soulful rhythm and rough-sweet blues.  He is the uncompromising truth in a fake-it-till-you-make-it world.” - Leonard Pitts Jr., Winner of the 2004 Pulitzer Prize for Commentary, Miami Herald, January 9, 2019
"Grayson Hugh has been there and is back again. His story - our story - has to be heard" - Robert Doerschuk, CMAWorld.com, May 10, 2010.
"Hugh's piano playing is a veritable cyclone of soul, drawing its energy from such diverse regions as the swampland funk of Professor Longhair, the testifying soul of Ray Charles, with rhythms of African drumming and American bluegrass thrown in the mix." - Alt. Country, August, 2010 (Belgium)

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