Imperfect.

Some things are better off forgotten

We bury them in places that we really only visit by ourselves

Oh you were a version like no other

Oh they never tell you what to do when all you see is gone

What's the sense in anything when what they say is wrong?

Oh what do you want to hear?

Do you wanna know how many times

I tore myself apart cuz you're not here?

Oh why do you want to know?

Does it make you feel alive?

I had to die to finally let you go

Stop me... I find myself believing

A story gets rewritten so a blasphemy's permitted once again

Oh and you were so perfectly imperfect

Oh they never tell you what to do when all you have are lies

What's the sense in anything? It's just one more goodbye.