may it be that the soft breeze who caresses me till I freeze might own a soul;even if it's cold even if it's old and will bend me till I fold may it be that the cold has a soulthen I'll have a chance,a glimpse of hopean ounce of soul to hold ontoeven with my hands blueif ghosts were real heaven knows my dealwhy is the mirror clear why isn't my blood nearwhy am I herebound to a forgotten housenot a way in nor a way outeveryday the same overplayed scenewhile my fortune's lost in a dreamoh mother tell me why does the knife go through meoh father forgive mehow does one bruise?may I sin I will finally know if the breeze owns a soulif ghosts were real and close
