---

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

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

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