Am I real and what do I feel
Hate is half a heart
Only I am in my arms
You were sold to 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 come from why and obviously you do too
The very start of everything hard
Could be the slip of a fingertip