The blind man in the sun sings the blues
      Does not see the joy illumined in our lives
      Does not feel the warmth he radiates
      A myriad of colors, myriad of hues
      Rainbows splashing cross our eyes
      He strolls the heavens wearing beggar's shoes.

      The blind man in the sun sings the blues
      He plays an old guitar with strings of light
      Pondering a chord, he moves our lives
      Noodles endlessly the thoughts we use
      Guiding our electric flight
      He leads the way that we would lose.

      The blind man in the sun sings the blues
      Effortlessly and without recollection
      Of past wonders, of past joys
      He does not think to read the news
      His tears pour down in waterfalls
      I wonder, if asked, what he would choose.

      The blind man in the sun sings the blues
      He dreams us light that we may see
      He dreams us love that we may be
      He sings his life for us away
      That we may recognize ourselves
      Walking a conscious moment in his shoes.