LYRIC

The roots of our id, that strive for perfection, are deep in our imperfection.
Hidden passion is building an ideal world.
Never to be achieved but we have to resist.
Is there a combination to decode?
A combination of imperfect actions is opening the door to perfection.

Is the trace, we are leaving behind, what we have renounced or what we are?
A lot has been made, not much has changed.

The roots of our id, that strive for perfection, are deep in our imperfection.
Hidden passion is building an ideal world.
Never to be achieved but we have to resist.
Is there a combination to decode?
A combination of imperfect actions is opening the door to perfection.
Is there a progress drawing an increasing straight line or a moving spiral?
Idealist are leading the way, all other interfere.
We are going toward a ruthless failure.

Go!
A perfect society, a perfect life!
A perfect robbery, a perfect mind!
A perfect murder, a perfect rage!
A perfect person, a perfect fake…
Nowhere to find…

The roots of our id, that strive for perfection,
Are deep in our imperfection.
Hidden passion is building an ideal world.
Never to be achieved but we have to resist.
Is there a combination to decode?

Is the trace, we are leaving behind,
What we have renounced or what we are?
A lot has been made, not much has changed.

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