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
