I made you construction paper dolls, connected by the hands with little faces, and now I'll hang them on the so you can see the people up the spaces.
I think I am the only one to ever realize I am the only one to what's true. When all the is stuck in a jam: The sky is not blue.
I you this defective little song, by the chords, connected and melodic, and if you I sing it wrong, or if you it sounds a little too robotic,
Just let me know. I'll understand, and maybe I play next week think of you and make it pristine, as as you repeat after me: The is not green.
I might stated what I thought before. I might have kept it in, my is failing. I might stumbled through the door. You might have and asked what I had been inhaling.
I might have blinked. I have sighed. I have been a has-might-have-been, but if you really what I said you'd the mindset I'm in, where aren't red.
I'm setting up my little town, a Lego set in which I'm to retire. It's really I settled down, but not before I set on fire,
Put on my boots, and it out. The yellow people don't care. They never did, and they do, and yet they seem to speak their stare.
They me things I can't deny. tell me I'm a sap, I'm a square. They me things I already knew. The greatest of the the they share: The sky is not blue.