Leave me at perfection,

it's just over there.

Next to pretty and wanted,

and no need to be scared.

In the state of flawless,

and the city of beautiful hair, 

lies a street they call skinny,

it's just over there.

 Where they don't make themselves nausous,

or cry in a mirror,

they don't make their arms scarred,

bodies sick, self-images bruised

Here life is simple, not terribly hard.

I'll show you the way,

and give you a key,

If you would leave me at perfection,

where I can be free.