Sometimes at night,
I sit alone and wonder,
I wonder about my life,
So much is there to ponder,
My life is a mystery to me,
It’s supposed to be so perfect,
A perfect life for a perfect girl,
A perfect story in a perfect world,
But perfection is blemished,
And that blemish remains untouched,
Instead we deny it's existence,
And try to cover it up,
The one and only blemish,
That so-called "perfection" has,
Is called free-will, and unlike perfection,
This free-will will last,
Look at the other beasts,
In God's wondrous creation,
The geese and ducks fly south,
In perfect "V" formation,
But look at us,
This motley crew,
Of the so-called "human" race,
The blemish of free-will lies,
On every person's face,
God gave us this blemish,
Knowing full well what would come,
He knew what He was doing for,
He can’t do any wrong,
So I guess my life is perfect,
In a "blemished" sort of way,
But I must go to sleep now,
It's now another "perfect" day.