what a simple question,
yet one i cannot ask;
why a simple question,
and so delicate a task?

am i a fool to go on this way;
will i be a fool tomorrow?
but what is it that i've to lose -
i've naught to lose but sorrow.

am i seeing things, in your eyes,
am i reading far between the lines;
such simple things, but i cannot bear,
to lose the softness of your hair

and other parts.

am i fooling myself into love,
a love that isn't real;
for you don't seem to understand:
it is i who cannot feel, and

i want, so much
simply to hold your hand,
to feel the tingles of your touch
but i know that you can't understand

that i am so far gone, and

a million worlds away from
your smell, your taste, your touch -
from your love, and i want it so **** much (to stay),
but i

am so far gone, and

a million worlds away