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
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