Is It...

Is it her voice,
Now after all,
Or her eyes of early Autumn,
Almost like a porcelain doll,

These things we pass,
As nothing more,
Than failed attempts,
To start a war,

Now walk me down this avenue,
Hand in hand without a clue,
That far along the old dirt road,
All I'll be is a detinue,

Is it how you can manipulate,
The human mind to make it see,
That all of us can contemplate,
We're dying from the same disease,

On a flashing Hollywood marquee,
It reads "Am I who I need to be?"
"Am I?" may refer to me,
But the actual question is "Why you?"