Perfect, they think everything's perfect.

They don't know the stress,

That lets my mind grow less and less.

Perfect, they think life's perfect.

They don't know my fast beating heart,

As it's pulled thin and ripped apart.

Perfect, isn't it perfect?

Nothing will ever be the same,

Can I even claim that I'm sane?

Will I ever be anything close

To this thing they think is me?

Will I ever be perfect?