![]() I guess there could always be someone to blame. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know. ![]() And I'm going to figure out what that is. You can't just sit their and put everybody's lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and than make the choice to share it with other people. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. “It's much easier to not know things sometimes. That's why on the back of a brown paper bagīecause that's what it was really all about Once on a piece of white paper with blue linesĪnd his mother never hung it on the kitchen doorĪnd his father never tucked him in bed at nightīecause that was the question about his girlĪnd at three a.m. ![]() “Once on a yellow piece of paper with green linesĪnd his mother hung it on the kitchen doorĪnd the girl around the corner sent him aĪnd he had to ask his father what the X's meantĪnd his father always tucked him in bed at night ![]()
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