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