He is standing before the mirror 
gazing at his smiling face. 
He's sad, in his heart a hollow, 
but he has to win this race. 
So he takes two steps backwards 
spins around like a ballet dancer 
and saunters away like a floating kite, 
leaving behind in the mirror, 
the sad portrait of him. 
Taking along a mask he borrowed 
from the colour of the sea... 

It's blue... 
sweet ocean drive. 
It's b l u e, 
that's how he choose to dive. 

Cheering crowd and excited fans 
waving, chanting his name. 
He suddenly feels like he could fly; 
wishes this feelings will remain 
when he turns his back to the crowd 
and recoil into his shell. 
So he let a smile spread across his face 
and whispers a quick pray'r. 
He exhales and to raise his head 
to where he derives stregnth... 

It's blue... 
right up the sky. 
It's b l u e, 
that's how he choose to fly. 

His heart feels like a stone 
could feel nothing but his heartbeat. 
He stares again and with sobby tone 
'mirror boy, look how I made it, 
I need a golden throne, 
and queen-lady beside it. 
But who cares about a poor boy?' 
He sighs, picks up his guitar blue; 
It has a colour that always come true. 
His fingers brews a sad symphony, 
and with a sullen face he sings... 

It's blue... 
playing on my guitar. 
It's b l u e, 
I know I'll feel alright.