Eyes cast down I see the flaws,
All of mine, all of yours.
Stains; I wipe away at them daily,
Guerrilla janitor,
They don't pay me
But they pain me.

So what if I strive for perfection?
mop or mope away,
squeeze out the infection,
but its a fiction
the clean slate don't exist
when you work in the permanent
they'll be no ExtINKtion.

So I guess I'll take the flaws,
All of mine, all of yours.
Clear some flaw space as
I take the floor
Make my acceptance speech
And explore
this imperfect notion.
Pry back the boards
and discover that
They keep us grounded and
In their absence
We wouldn't be who we are.