I swear by the quiet silence of your paper house, I know your dreams are as beautiful as my fancies believable. You've got the mystic believe of love from my silence. I've got the final point of belief from your silence. Maybe it's not possible to feel that the words we say about the paper world we've made are hearable. But we can start to paint the gray branches of the paper trees green. I know painting, you know painting too. So why don't you start? When I was ...