Lonely

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