What a magical mystery life we live, and the good friends you have. I doubt, and I regret, and I am betrayed, and I forgive, I am forgotten, and I hardly care. These friends of mine I have learned not rely on, because more than not, you will be failed by them. As I hurt to say, I wish we could all be okay. Things make all our lives just go astray and we wind up burned out like a forgotten cigarette. We are cigarettes in a pack, and one by one, we are used and thrown away, and we are replaced by a different person in our same bodies in a new pack once we are all gone, and this is a past that repeats whether we know it or not, we cannot help ourselves, and we are dwindly. I cling to you like for life, and you drift from lover to lover, never occupied with what you have, you worry, and you cry, and I cry, and I hope. I fall for you again and again, and I break for you each time you are hurt. I don't want to be your doll any longer, but it is not a choice I have to make. I gave myself to love, oh what a mistake. Gretchen, picnic, sunday, sandwhiches? sodas? we need to arrange who is bringing what.