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, 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