It’s a sign of perfection sublime
To render all things imperfect
As one scene of pleasure
That cools without measure
A heart that is burned by defect
Perfect
Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you
Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you
It’s a sign of perfection sublime
To render all things imperfect
As one scene of pleasure
That cools without measure
A heart that is burned by defect