We talk about social imperfections / we talk about wolves at every turn
We think about the comical direction / I might've taken if I'd never learned
There's no time for happy ever after / there's no time for walking in the surf
There are no words I could ever mumble / that could touch
The depths of what you're worth /
And it's me who wants it all to be now / to be somehow perfect /
Me that wants it all to be right / to be something sacred /
You write down your intimate perceptions / you write down your disenchanted prose /
Breathe deep the air of your existence / anything to understand the life you chose
'Cause it's me who wants it all to be now / to be somehow perfect /
Me that wants it all to be right / to be something sacred, to be something sacred /
And I don't understand the reason why; a cry for love gets no reply /
The refuse swirling at my feet, the fascination with deceit /
The politics of empty men, the confidence we all pretend /
The multitudes at every gate, the unexpected hand of fate /
And it's me who wants it all to be now to be somehow perfect /
Me that wants it all to be right / to be something sacred
