If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain.
If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same.
And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead;
yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it's not real,
and it seems that I still have a tear to shed
If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain.
If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same.
And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead;
yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it's not real,
and it seems that I still have a tear to shed
If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain.
If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same.
And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead;
yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it's not real,
and it seems that I still have a tear to shed
If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain.
If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same.
And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead;
yet the pain here that I feel, try and tell me it's not real,
and it seems that I still have a tear to shed