I'm imperfect from my feet to my head,
Now I'm resting in my soothing bead.
We fight against injustice, as it goes
I seem to have lost my purpose.
I resort to isolation when feeling guilty
And then I think: isn't this a pity?
Do all these things really matter
If they are making me even sadder?
Now I'm resting in my soothing bead.
We fight against injustice, as it goes
I seem to have lost my purpose.
I resort to isolation when feeling guilty
And then I think: isn't this a pity?
Do all these things really matter
If they are making me even sadder?
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