I remember all the hard times perfectly
And the shrink said to be realistic see
I guess I’m hung up on hope and good intentions
I guess that I’m obsessed with being free
this wasn’t supposed to be all about me
It seems I misjudged the thing’s dimensions
This isn’t a story a riddle or poem
it isn’t going platinum or even chrome
A song a day I guess I lack direction
once there was a firestorm wherever I’d roam
not too much left going on in my dome
are these the wages of striving for perfection
I’ve written this song a thousand times
that isn’t true yet but hey it rhymes
But I feel it now just as I felt it then
When Eric and I spoke in Northern climes
of the perfect tree and fate’s chimes
I’m searching for my perfect world again
You can read an explanation of the origin of these lyrics here
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