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 damn much (to stay),
but i
am so far gone, and
a million worlds away