I have a boundless amount of imperfections, And I confess them, profess them, Reveal them, show their stem, And for that I'm condemned; Viewed as ugly, terrible, unbearable, Seen as bizarre, out-so-far, marred...
But wouldn't you say I'm perfect in a way? You hide your flaws, keep them from day. Yet I pay, because I WILL say, What flaws in me lay.