I Myself Do Not Believe In Explaining

If You Want To Marry Me, Here's What You'll Have To Do: You Must Learn How To Make A Perfect Chicken-dumpling Stew. And You Must Sew My Holey Socks, And Soothe My Troubled Mind, And Develop The Knack For Scratching My Back, And Keep My Shoes Spotlessly Shined. And While I Rest You Must Rake Up The Leaves, And When It Is Hailing And Snowing You Must Shovel The Walk...and Be Still When I Talk, And-hey-where Are You Going?

Once There Was A Tree, And She Loved A Little Boy.

There Are No Happy Endings. Endings Are The Saddest Part, So Just Give Me A Happy Middle And A Very Happy Start.

I Myself Do Not Believe In Explaining Anything.

A Spider Lives Inside My Head Who Weaves A Strange And Wondrous Web Of Silken Threads And Silver Strings To Catch All Sorts Of Flying Things, Like Crumbs Of Thoughts And Bits Of Smiles And Specks Of Dried-up Tears, And Dust Of Dreams That Catch And Cling For Years And Years And Years...