The perfect person is yet to be born,
we must make do with imperfection
It's why our souls get dirty, ripped and torn
Realize the purpose, the designed intention
We can't stay whole forever
Our lives were meant to seperate
But still I can't help but cry
When I'm leaving at the gate
When I'm kneeling at your grave,
just know I'm well behaved
I clean the dirt and place fresh flowers
In front of this master stands a smiling slave