I retain all these faults that could make me flawless,
I can write rhymes, tell the time, though I really shouldn’t floss less.
But out of all the things to choose that could make me seem spotless,
I’d have to say there is no way I could not choose music.
I could wake up flawless with hair intact,
In my outfit, wrinkled, breath so bad,
But give me a cover of JT, relax,
And I’ll proceed to bring your sexy back.
That’s right, from Sheeran all the way to Kanye,
I can write and record what I want to say.
Put music down and lay a beat,
Then play it out on a live stage.
It’s my life, and my music,
I’ll sing and rap as I choose it.
A pick on the guitar or a foot on the drums,
I can even pluck a banjo for some Mumford and Sons.
My ability to sing is characterized
By a passion I follow and desire to write.
Mayer or Marvin Gaye, Sinatra or Michael Bublé
I fully believe that I can sing, no matter what my mind thinks.
I could lie to myself and think that my music will never sound flawless, see,
I mess up, fall apart, slack off, or act lawlessly.
But this music I pursue helps me let emotions out
So I can express myself and never belittle it down.
So when circumstances change,
Feelings are lost or friends turned estrange,
All hope feels gone and I’m strung along:
The music remains.
The music and the melody,
They will always be a part of me.
I put forth effort and fight to be heard,
And hope and pray people relate to the words.
In reality, am I truly ever flawless? No.
I could put everything I have into trying to seem perfect.
But regardless of how I’m viewed or whether everyone likes me or not,
I will always have my music (but maybe I should also floss…).