Brown Boxes

I've got this notion
That moving out is better
Than this commotion
If she complains I won't let her

Tell me what to do
And if she wants to argue
I'll remind her that were through

A late reminder
And Post-it notes and marker
Were it not kinder
Her black eye would be darker

And all these brown boxes
Haven't helped me move one bit
In half empty rooms they sit

Stay that's where they will stay
I could never say
I would never say, "This is over"

I've got this cupid
Humble from woolen sacket
It's pretty stupid but nonetheless I'll pack it

And this box cutters too dull
Other wise I'd end it all
There's still boxes in the hall

And stay, that's where they will stay
I could never place any other blame
And how could you even go
On living if it's so unintentional? I'd like to know