The Unreal McCoy

Is there a song consisting only of questions?
Are they rhetorical - requiring no answer?
Or - do they seek conclusion: real queries incognito?
Are they half-said in jest?
Do they so disguise their sensitive, fleshy pink raw cores?
Do they really want to be replied to?
Should I respond to this song of questions?
With more questions?

Is it an earthquake?
Is it the good turtle soup?
Is this joy a genuine feeling?
Or is it the unreal McCoy?
Is it simply a lark?
Is it a fancy not worth thinking of?

Do any of these questions matter - do they beg answering?
Do they really have hearts of complex vulnerability?
Are they masking some profound purpose?
I don't think so.