Reality tells me that maybe
The little hands around my heart
Are singlehandedly the only thing that makes this all bearable
I say things are good, I say things are so good
And I mean it
I can hear the honesty in my voice
And I know other people can hear it too

But these little hands around my heart
Are they holding rose colored filters over my eyes?
I like to think that I believe things are good
Because they actually and truly are good
But when I think about it
I really don't know for sure
But that's how it is with everything I suppose