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
Nothings as rude as the cold
Stupidly beautifoolish true you
Maybe madness is a heart
Maybe heaven is a habit

If I could fly Id live in the sky
Id 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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