If she let it hit her
At a run or at a crawl
She would feel it the same way,
She'd feel it not at all

Some taste life on their tongue
In purples, reds and golds
But by the time she swallows it
It's aleady gone old
She reaches not for sweet
Not rare or medium well
How can you have a preference
When you can't even tell

Sometimes
It hits her like a wave
It crushes her, she's scared
That is until she realizes
She doesn't even care

If a piece of paper folds 7 times,
She'll fold over 8.
If everyone has their time and place,
Then it looks like she'd be late

'Cause life fits her into places
She didn't know she'd go
And people gave her knowledge, she didn't
Know she'd know
But when molecules
of thoughts and dreams
Don't look anything, like you thought they'd seem
Then what is your life made of?
That's whens she feels nothing