am i real and what do i feel
hate is half a heart
only i am in my arms
you were sold for something to hold
nothing's as rude as the cold
stupidly beaut i foolish 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