For years, I've had this idea in my head.
It comes back to me when I'm laying in bed.
An image I wish would burn to the ground.
If I'm not careful, this idea makes me drown.
An idea that I can be perfect in this world.
That who I am isn't who I wanna be.
That what I see in the mirror isn't me.
It turns my thoughts into arrows, aimed at my heart.
How do I put an end to this? Where do I start?
What I do know is I have flaws.
My body covered in memory filled cuts and bruises.
My mind has them too. Thoughts that have loses.
Thoughts that have won. But out of those few are brought to the light of the sun.
It's a complex world inside us.
And we wanna fix it, be perfect, make a fuss.
We fall and fly, we break down and fall through the sky.
The fact is, I'm done letting a fable be my role model.
A fake man, with a blank idea of life and pain, failure and regret. I'm here because I'm imperfect, let's not forget.
I can't be him. He's no fun.
Singing about Maria, like a nun.
We can't have perfection in this life.
We'd get bored, and I'd bore my wife.
This isn't about being perfect, or even great about everything.
It's about falling and slipping on everything.
It's about being happy with unhappiness.
It's about looking to the sun, when right behind us is darkness trailing along.
Its not about where the bad is absent, but where our eyes are when it tries to ask our consent.
To come inside and wreck our heart.
So here's to another and another and another....brand new start.