Nothing can be perfect,
But how can it be perfect,
When splashes mar the perfect white,
It’s like a rose,
And my blood,
Your face is splashed red,
I just wonder how,
It’s possible to let this happen,
And continue without purpose,
It’s a hidden meaning,
And we are searching for nothing,
It’s like a video screen,
Showing just what you want,
But how can it be perfect?
When the colour icolored,
The ballrooms full,
And you can hear the patter of rain,
While the dancers are oblivious,
The floor is stained,
Like a rose,
And my blood,
Your face is splattered red.
But the words continue,
And how can this be perfect,
When the colour jcoloranges,
With small cuts,
I've given you my heart,
And hoped that something has changed,
But the words go ever onwards,on wardsink and they don't change,
Like a lie built from truth,
You can't tell the difference,
It's like a rose,
And my blood,
Your face is splashed red,
So is it perfect?
If there’s a black spot
Or do we just discard it as unworthy?
It’s just like the words mean nothing,
A hollow promise,
Not kept to the word,
Just because the words never,
Meant a single thing,
The rose is imperfect,
But it’s still perfect,
Just like a rose,
And my blood,
Your face is coloured red.colored
