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Perfect

de 11 Acorn Lane

Burning rock
In the palm of your hand
Treat this place as you′re wont to
I will make my land
To comfort you

Arch precision
Pull the ropes with a dry hand
Soaked in scenery
Painted by brushes of hair
I pulled from your head
Don't make this difficult
I can′t wait for the morning Sun

Oh, the morning Sun has come and you're not there

Petals encircling
Newspapers crumbling
Turn the TV off
And wait for the writing in the sky
It could be bad, it doesn't matter
′Cause those words will just melt into the clouds
Don′t be mad, my name was misgiven
I've known glory all my life

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