Am i real and what do i feel
Hate is half a heart
Only i am in my arms
You were sold as something to hold
Nothing’s as rude as the cold
Stupidly beautifoolish true you
Maybe madness is a heart
Maybe heaven is a habit
If i could fly i’d live in the sky
I’d come from why and obviously you do too
The very start of everything hard could be the slip of a fingertip