I made you these 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 world is stuck in a The sky is not blue.
I made you defective little song, by the chords, connected and melodic, and if you think I it wrong, or if you think it sounds a too robotic,
Just let me know. I'll understand, and maybe when I play week I'll of you and make it pristine, as long as you repeat me: The is not green.
I might have what I thought before. I might have kept it in, my is failing. I might stumbled through the door. You have stared and asked what I had been inhaling.
I might have blinked. I might sighed. I might have a has-might-have-been, but if you really heard I said understand the mindset I'm in, where aren't red.
I'm setting up my little town, a set in which I'm planning to retire. It's time I settled down, but not before I set on fire,
Put on my boots, and it out. The little people don't care. They never did, and never do, and yet they to speak with their stare.
They tell me things I 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.