Perfect

Simple image, raised above,

to which the world bows down.

Of perfect beauty, perfect love,

everything else unsound.

Of tainted mirrors now reveal

everything we wish to see.

Disfigured hearts now are sealed,

reflecting now the perfect shape.

Fear not, fear not, the pain of all

the spinning rooms, the clowns,

For you too are soon to fall

through the never changing relms.

Simple image, raised above,

to which the world bows down.

It is you that now they love,

the truth has been unwound.

What is real, What is not?

No longer a distinction lies.

Mirrors tainted filth and rot.

No longer happiness can find. 

Fear not, fear not, there is no pain,

For everything is fake.

Now part of clowns there is none left,

but your name to forsake.