It's As Though I've Been Sleepwalking And

He Stares At Me, And Then Leans Back In His Chair. "he's Ill, Jacob." I Say Nothing. "he's A Paragon Schnitzophonic." "he's What?!" "paragon Schnitzophonic," Repeats Uncle Al. "you Mean Paranoid Schizophrenic?" "sure. Whatever. But The Bottom Line Is He's Mad As A Hatter.

Even When I Look Straight Into The Milky Blue Eyes I Can't Find Myself Any More. When Did I Stop Being Me?

Honey, I Plan To Marry You The Moment The Ink Is Dry On That Death Certificate.

Life Goes On With Fragile Normalcy.

With A Secret Like That, At Some Point The Secret Itself Becomes Irrelevant. The Fact That You Kept It Does Not.