It feels like all I am, is my imagination
I can find some good anywhere, with a little dedication
I am what I feel, adaptable by design
I triangulate my position with imaginary lines
I can't profess the rules when I delight in the exceptions
Headmaster of the school of my own imperfection
I am, only, what I perceive
This all could change with what you say to me
So my apologies for making you suffer through those times
When I've issued my papal decrees
With imaginary lines
