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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